MICK 


OF     THE 


1 


Y 


KATE  DICKINSON  SWEETSER 


MICKY    OF   THE   ALLEY 


OF  CALIF.   LIBRARY,  LOS  AHGEU5S 


James  Barkerding,  Knight. 


MICKY  OF  THE  ALLEY 


AND    OTHER   YOUNGSTERS 


BY 
KATE    DICKINSON    SWEETSER 

AUTHOR    OF    TEN    BOYS    FROM    DICKENS    AND    TEN    GIRLS    FROM    DICKENS 


ILLUSTRATED  BY  GEORGE  ALFRED  WILLIAMS 


NEW   YORK 

D.    APPLETON   AND    COMPANY 
1903 


COPYRIGHT,  1903 
BY  D.   APPLETON  AND   COMPANY 


Published  September,  1903 


TO 

TWO   LITTLE   YOUNGSTERS 

WHO    WILL    SOON    OUTGROW    THE    TITLE 

THIS     BOOK 
IS    LOVINGLY    INSCRIBED    BY 

"TANTE  KATE." 


2133096 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

MICKY  OF  THE  ALLEY 

A  MILLINERY  OPENING 25 

OTHELLO,  JR ^ 

JAMES  BARKERDING,  KNIGHT 93 

SAL  :  HER  STORY      .                121 

MAROONED        .                         165 

vii 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING 
PAGE 


James  Barkerding,  Knight      .         .         .        Frontispiece 

A  millinery  opening        .......       38 

Othello,  Jr 86 

Sal 138 

ix 


MICKY   OF   THE  ALLEY 


MICKY    OF   THE   ALLEY 


DURING  that  portion  of  his  short  life 
spent  by  Micky  in  Scott's  Alley,  he  had  al- 
ways been  Lord  High  Chancellor,  Chief  Jus- 
tice, and  Minister  Plenipotentiary  of  the 
Alley,  dealing  out  advice,  wisdom,  and  jus- 
tice, in  large  or  small  parcels  according  to 
requirements,  and  the  days  and  weeks  were 
all  too  short  for  a  person  invested  with  so 
much  power. 

At  the  age  of  five  Micky  had  been  trans- 
planted by  his  widowed  mother  from  the 
Connecticut  farm,  where  his  grandparents 
were  rusting  out  their  fourscore  years,  to 
the  city,  where  she  could  more  easily  support 
herself  and  her  little  lame  son — for  Micky 
was  a  cripple.  But  he  never  used  the  term 
to  enlist  sympathy — rather,  to  excite  envy, 
for  it  was  his  badge  of  office,  setting  him 

3 


MICKY    OF    THE    ALLEY 

apart  from  his  comrades  by  virtue  of  his 
limitations,  as  Ruler  of  the  alley. 

His  companions  were  able  to  go  to 
school,  to  walk  and  romp  and  play,  while 
Micky  sat  all  day  on  the  tumble-down  stoop 
of  the  house  where  he  lived.  Although  he 
was  able  to  walk  quite  a  distance,  the  proc- 
ess was  too  slow  and  painful  to  be  under- 
taken often,  so  in  winter  and  summer,  bun- 
dled up  in  mufflers  and  comforters,  or  clad 
as  scantily  as  the  law  allows,  he  was  to  be 
found  on  the  rickety  steps  of  his  home,  dis- 
pensing counsel  or  gossip. 

When  he  was  seven  years  old  Micky  was 
left  an  orphan,  alone  in  the  great  city,  and 
the  old  people  on  the  farm  wrote  to  the 
women  in  the  alley  who  had  been  their 
daughter's  friends,  urging  that  the  child  be 
sent  back  to  them  at  once.  But  Micky  was 
strenuous  in  his  appeals  to  stay  in  his  be- 
loved alley  for  the  present,  so  he  remained 
while  months  slipped  away,  and  the  women 
ministered  to  his  needs  as  best  they  could. 

Despite  the  wan  thinness  of  his  oval  face, 
4 


MICKY    OF    THE    ALLEY 

there  was  genuine  merriment  in  his  laugh 
and  a  wholesome  sparkle  of  enthusiasm  in 
his  eyes.  This  made  the  boys  and  girls  sure 
of  his  interest  in  whatever  item  they  could 
add  to  his  hoard  of  information,  when  they 
hastened  to  him  after  school  with  a  report 
of  so  much  of  their  lessons  as  they  could 
remember.  And  Micky,  with  much  dignity 
and  reserve  in  his  bearing,  listened,  ab- 
sorbed, digested,  and  gave  out  again,  facts 
thus  accumulated,  while  the  other  children, 
forgetful  of  what  they  had  repeated  to  him, 
looked  upon  him  as  the  Oracle  of  their  day 
and  generation. 

To  be  in  a  class  by  yourself  by  virtue 
of  conceded  superiority  is  always  pleasant, 
and  Micky  was  supremely  content  until  one 
unexpected  day. 

That  morning,  as  usual,  after  arranging 
himself  comfortably  on  the  steps,  he  looked 
about  him  and  was  amazed  to  see  a  pair  of 
gray  eyes  staring  at  him  from  a  stoop 
across  the  street.  Surprised  by  the  unex- 
pected vision,  Micky  returned  the  stare,  and 

5 


MICKY    OF    THE    ALLEY 

surveyed  the  newcomer  from  the  tips  of  his 
worn-out  boots  to  his  round,  much  freckled 
face,  surmounted  by  a  mop  of  flaming  red 
hair. 

"Hello!"  was  Micky's  first  move  in  the 
game  of  hospitality. 

"  Hello,  yerself ! "  was  the  quick  reply  in 
a  rough,  loud  voice. 

"  Where'd  you  come  from?  I  never  saw 
you  before ! " 

"You  bet  ye  didn't!"  The  new  boy's  voice 
was  boisterously  contemptuous.  "  'Tain't 
my  fault  ye  see  me  now.  Dad's  got  work  in 
the  Swamp,  so  we  had  ter  come  too.  It's 
the  worst  old  hole  I  ever  seen." 

His  beautiful  alley,  where  so  many  inter- 
esting things  happened,  and  where  one 
could  catch  such  fine  glimpses  of  the  sunset 
called  by  such  a  name!  Micky  was  dumb 
with  resentment  for  some  seconds,  then  he 
remarked:  "  You'll  take  that  back  when  you 
get  'quainted.  It's  an  awful  nice  place. 
Ain't  you  goin'  to  school?  " 

"  No!  "  The  monosyllable  shot  across  the 
6 


MICKY    OF    THE    ALLEY 

street  with  the  force  of  a  cannon-ball,  and 
quieted  Micky  again.  But  curiosity  con- 
quered, and  leaning  over,  he  called  back, 
"  Why?  " 

The  new  boy's  cheeks  flamed  until  they 
matched  his  hair. 

"Mind  yer  bizness!"  he  retorted;  then 
for  some  unknown  reason  added  curtly: 
"  I'm  lame.  That's  why." 

Quick  as  a  flash  enthusiasm  leaped  high 
in  Micky's  eyes,  and  he  rose.  "  Wait  a  min- 
ute," he  called,  "  I'm  comin'  over." 

Hobbling  across  the  street,  he  stood  by 
the  new  boy's  side. 

"  So  am  I,"  he  said  with  a  merry  laugh. 
"  Ain't  that  queer!  There'll  be  two  of  us. 
It's  lots  of  fun." 

"  Fun!  "  exclaimed  the  new  boy  in  aston- 
ishment, as  Micky,  uninvited,  settled  him- 
self for  a  visit.  "  How  d'ye  make  that 
out?" 

"  Well,"  said  Micky  confidentially,  "  bein' 
different  is  nice.  Nobody  gets  tired  lookin' 

at  a  lot  of  you,  and  you  just  sit  all  day  and 

a  7 


MICKY    OF    THE    ALLEY 

tell  things  for  them  to  listen  to.     Say,  how 
do  your  legs  go?  " 

"  Go ! "  said  the  new  boy.  "  They  don't 
go  at  all,  that's  the  trouble." 

"  Neither  do  mine,"  confided  Micky. 
"  My  hip's  a  hole  instead  of  a  hip,  an'  when 
one  side  o'  me  gets  up  to  go,  the  other  side 
gets  lost  in  the  hole  where  bones  ought 
to  be." 

Micky  felt  pride  in  this  clear  explanation 
of  his  limitations,  and  was  not  prepared  for 
his  companion's  loud  outburst  of  laughter. 
He  roared  and  slapped  his  knees  until  the 
alley  rang  with  echoes  and  Micky's  cheeks 
were  pink  with  wounded  pride.  "  'Tain't 
comical  like  that,"  he  said.  "  Guess  I'll  go 
home."  But  the  new  boy  put  out  a  restrain- 
ing hand.  "  Cheese  it!  "  he  said.  "  Sit  still. 
'Cordin'  ter  that  I'm  all  holes  and  no  bones 
at  all.  I'm  seven  years  old  an'  they  call  me 
Reddy.  What's  yer  name?  " 

"  Michael  O'Brien,"  responded  Micky, 
easily  pacified,  "  an'  I'm  eight.  It's  awful 
strange  to  have  two  of  us  here,  ain't  it?  " 

8 


MICKY    OF    THE    ALLEY 

Reddy's  reply  in  the  affirmative  led  to  a 
long  conversation  which  included  every 
topic  of  interest  to  them  both,  ending  in  an 
exposition  of  fighting  as  a  fine  art,  which 
they  illustrated  with  as  active  a  set-to  as 
they  could  engage  in.  Micky's  skill  over- 
balanced Reddy's  brute  force,  and  when,  ex- 
hausted, they  fell  apart,  Reddy  looked  upon 
his  delicate  little  companion  with  admira- 
tion not  untinged  with  envy. 

But  alas  for  Micky!  His  supremacy  both 
over  the  new  rival  and  over  his  friends  began 
from  that  day  to  wane.  Reddy  was  aggres- 
sive and  selfish,  and  his  jealousy  of  the  re- 
fined, popular  little  chap  across  the  street 
grew  so  intense  that  he  resorted  to  all  sorts 
of  devices  by  which  to  lure  Micky's  subjects 
to  his  own  doorstep.  Once  having  beguiled 
them  to  his  side,  he  had  an  apparently  end- 
less fund  of  thrilling  adventures  to  relate  to 
them.  His  father  had  been  mate  on  a  south- 
ern steamer  for  some  years,  and  from  Red- 
dy's accounts  his  father  and  he  had  had 
escapes  and  happenings  enough  to  fill  vol- 

9 


MICKY    OF    THE    ALLEY 

umes.  It  made  little  difference  to  his  audi- 
ence whether  the  tales  were  true  or  imagi- 
nary; in  any  case  they  were  enthralling  to 
the  eager  group  gathered  around  their  new 
leader,  and  so  skilfully  did  Keddy  use  his 
power  that  Micky  ceased  to  attract  or  to 
hold  court  as  of  old.  Since  the  day  when 
he  fought  Keddy  and  beat  him  the  new- 
comer had  paid  him  only  the  scant  courtesy 
of  an  occasional  nod  or  a  careless  "  Come 
on  over.  All  the  fellers  are  comin'  ter  hear 
my  yarns." 

These  invitations  Micky  always  acknowl- 
edged with  a  smile,  but  did  not  accept,  as 
he  was  more  comfortable  on  his  own  steps. 
Often  as  he  sat  there  he  felt  a  troublesome 
lump  rise  in  his  throat.  It  was  not  that  he 
minded  being  alone,  for  Reddy's  loud  voice 
was  easy  to  hear  in  every  corner  of  the  alley 
as  he  told  his  marvelous  tales.  It  was  only 
the  thought  that  those  boys  and  girls  used 
to  like  to  sit  with  him  while  he  did  the  talk- 
ing that  he  minded — that  made  the  lump 
come  in  his  throat.  But  he  bravely  sat 

10 


MICKY    OF    THE    ALLEY 

alone  and  tried  to  be  content  with  an  occa- 
sional visit  from  a  former  subject,  to  enjoy 
his  corner  and  the  sunsets  as  of  old,  and 
succeeded  fairly  well,  considering  all  things. 

One  afternoon,  alone  as  usual,  he  was 
glancing  over  a  Herald,  given  him  by  a 
newsboy  of  the  alley,  wrhen  a  paragraph  in  it 
arrested  his  attention.  It  told  of  the  com- 
ing of  a  famous  German  surgeon  who  could 
cure  the  lame  by  a  marvelous  and  compara- 
tively painless  process.  So  excited  did 
Micky  become  over  it  that  the  letters  jum- 
bled themselves  together,  and  only  by  a  su- 
preme mental  effort  could  he  separate  them 
into  words.  But  at  last  he  deciphered  the 
fact  that  the  great  man  would  be  in  New 
York  the  following  week,  and  that  several 
prominent  city  surgeons  could  each  present 
a  number  of  cases  to  be  operated  upon. 

Not  a  moment  did  Micky  lose.  Gather- 
ing himself  together,  he  hobbled  slowly 
down  the  street.  Keddy,  seeing  him,  called 
out:  "Hey,  there — where  yer  goin'?"  And 
although  it  gave  him  additional  steps  to 
11 


MICKY    OF    THE    ALLEY 

take,  Micky  crossed  over  and  told  all 
about  it.  But  Reddy  only  laughed  at  him. 
"  It's  a  fake,  sure,"  he  said.  "  Ef  'twuz  any 
good,  he'd  ha'  been  here  long  ago.  Amer- 
ica's too  rich  not  to  ha'  got  on  to  him  afore. 
Them  papers  is  liars." 

This  unbelief  took  the  edge  off  of  Micky's 
enthusiasm,  but  he  would  have  died  rather 
than  show  it,  so  with  no  retort  to  Reddy's 
remark,  he  continued  on  his  way  toward  the 
dispensary,  where  he  proposed  to  interview 
Dr.  Gates,  who  had  many  times  given  him 
liniment  and  advice. 

He  found  the  young  fellow  there  on  duty, 
and  told  him  what  he  had  read  in  the  paper, 
adding :  "  Reddy  says  he's  a  fake,  sir.  Is 
he?" 

Dr.  Gates  shook  his  head.  "  No,  Micky, 
he  is  great  and  good.  Reddy  doesn't  know 
what  he  is  talking  about." 

"  Oh,  then,  sir,"  pleaded  Micky,  "  you  can 
get  him  to  look  at  my  hip,  please,  sir,  can't 
you?  " 

Micky's  delicate  upturned  face  showed 
12 


MICKY    OF    THE    ALLEY 

such  intensity  of  eagerness,  and  such  confi- 
dence in  the  young  doctor's  ability  to  help 
him,  that  Dr.  Gates  felt  a  thrill  of  interest 
in  the  little  chap,  whose  condition  he  knew 
to  be  exactly  that  most  easily  helped  by  the 
great  surgeon.  Crossing  the  room  he  con- 
sulted a  ledger,  ran  his  pencil  through  a 
name,  replaced  it  by  another,  and  advanced 
smiling  to  Micky's  side,  saying: 

"  Yes,  Micky,  we'll  give  you  a  chance. 
Your  case  will  be  just  what  the  doctor  likes. 
Who  knows,  you  may  play  football  yet?  We 
can  present  five  subjects  for  him  to  choose 
from,  and  you  shall  be  number  five.  I  have 
only  had  two  hundred  and  forty-nine  appli- 
cations already.  You  will  have  to  be  at  the 
Manhattan  Hospital  next  Friday  at  nine 
o'clock.  Is  there  any  one  to  take  you? " 
Micky  looked  so  doubtful  that  the  doctor 
added:  "Very  well,  come  here  and  go  with 
me.  Nine  o'clock  sharp,  and  don't  get  too 
much  excited  about  it.  The  quieter  you  are, 
you  know,  the  better  the  result  will  be  for 
you." 

13 


MICKY    OF    THE    ALLEY 

"  I'll  do  my  best,  sir,  thank  you,"  said 
Micky  gravely;  then  passing  out,  he  found 
himself  again  hobbling  down  the  alley,  this 
time  with  a  small  cyclone  of  excitement  ra- 
ging in  his  breast,  which  he  tried  in  vain  to 
still.  Seeing  Reddy,  he  called  out:  "  'Tain't 
a  fake,  an'  I'm  goin'  to  have  a  show." 

Reddy  snapped  his  fingers  in  scorn. 
"Oh,  git  out!"  he  said,  and  Micky  hurried 
on  to  share  his  piece  of  news  with  the 
women  in  the  house,  who  were  all  deeply 
interested,  for  they  were  devoted  to  the  lit- 
tle lad. 

At  last  Friday  came,  and  Micky,  in 
a  stiffly  starched  shirt  and  neatly  mended 
suit,  set  out  for  the  dispensary,  escorted  by 
one  of  the  women,  who  delivered  him  over 
to  Dr.  Gates,  and  learned  that  after  the 
operation  Micky  would  be  cared  for  in  the 
hospital  for  some  days,  and  that  his  side 
would  be  encased  in  plaster  for  several 
weeks.  Listening,  Micky  did  not  hear.  In 
imagination  he  was  already  taking  part  in 
the  active  and  delightful  sports  which  he 

14 


MICKY    OF    THE    ALLEY 

had  missed  for  so  many  years.  Even  when 
he  and  the  doctor  boarded  a  car  he  did  not 
wake  from  his  trance.  But  as  they  neared 
the  hospital  and  the  car  began  to  fill  with 
women  and  children,  he  roused  to  watch 
them. 

"  I  didn't  know  there  were  so  many  in 
the  world  like  me,"  he  said  to  the  doctor. 
"Are  they  all  going  there,  too?" 

The  doctor  said  Yes,  but  added:  "They 
haven't  all  got  a  friend  at  court  like  you, 
Micky.  Many  of  them  are  just  going  on  the 
chance  of  having  their  case  attract  the  doc- 
tor's attention." 

"  And  if  they  don't,  will  they  have  to  go 
back  home  again?" 

The  doctor  nodded,  adding  reassuringly: 
"  But  you  needn't  be  afraid.  You  have  a 
number  and  a  place.  The  doctor  won't  pass 
you  by." 

"Oh!"  said  Micky,  and  again  relapsed 
into  silence. 

The  great  building  which  they  soon  en- 
tered was  a  marvel  of  heat  and  light  and 

15 


MICKY    OF    THE    ALLEY 

construction  to  Micky's  wondering  eyes  as 
they  passed  through  its  halls  and  into  a 
large  receiving  room)  but  more  interesting 
still  to  him  were  the  boys  and  girls  crowd- 
ing in  with  eager  hope  written  on  their 
faces.  After  handing  Micky  his  tag  of  iden- 
tification, Dr.  Gates  disappeared  and  Micky 
stood  alone,  watching  the  throng  of  people 
crowd  into  the  room.  A  familiar  shock  of 
red  hair  attracted  his  attention — Reddy! 

Micky  held  his  breath  for  astonishment, 
as  he  watched  the  well-known  figure  push 
his  way  roughly  through  the  crowd,  elbow- 
ing boys  and  girls  aside,  until  he  stood  by 
Micky. 

"  Hello!  "  Micky  found  his  voice  at  last, 
and  tried  not  to  feel  regretful,  as  he  added: 
"  What  made  you  come?  " 

"  'Cause  I  chose  to,  that's  why!  "  Reddy 
spoke  so  crossly  that  Micky  flushed,  but  he 
only  said  as  pleasantly  as  he  could:  "I'm 
awful  glad  you  did!  Got  a  doctor  and  a 
number?  " 

"No'op;  took  me  chances!"  snapped 
16 


MICKY    OF    THE    ALLEY 

Reddy,  and  there  was  no  more  time  for  con- 
versation. The  operating-table  was  ready 
for  its  next  occupant  and  the  great  surgeon 
made  his  way  into  the  waiting-room,  his  en- 
trance marked  by  a  deep  and  breathless 
silence.  Looking  to  right  and  left,  examin- 
ing tags  and  faces,  and  asking  questions,  he 
passed  through  the  crowd,  and  Micky  saw 
joy  written  on  a  little  girl's  face  as  she  was 
chosen  to  try  her  chance  of  being  made  over 
by  a  man's  wonderful  skill.  Later  Nos. 
2  and  3  were  picked  from  the  ranks  and 
went  bravely  away  to  their  ordeals.  Then 
the  surgeon  came  into  the  room  again  and 
consulted  his  watch.  No.  3  had  taken  longer 
than  had  been  expected;  only  one  more  case 
could  be  treated  that  day.  Micky  felt  a 
powerful  hand  laid  upon  his  shoulder  as  he 
was  examined  from  head  to  foot,  and  closely 
questioned.  Then  the  surgeon's  practised 
eye  fell  upon  Eeddy,  who  had  pushed  for- 
ward, trying  to  attract  attention  from 
Micky,  and  the  famous  man  looked  Reddy 
over  closely,  too.  "Ah!"  he  exclaimed. 
17 


MICKY    OF    THE    ALLEY 

"  An  exactly  similar  case,  only  younger, 
easier  to  work  on. — Well,  rny  lad,"  he  added 
kindly,  "  I'm  sorry,  but  you  see  this  other 
little  fellow  comes  first,  and  has  a  tag,  so  I 
must  give  him  the  first  chance." 

Micky,  watching  Reddy  closely  as  the 
surgeon  spoke,  saw  fierce  gleams  of  hope  and 
despair  transfigure  the  freckled  face,  then 
give  way  to  a  look  of  purple  disappointment. 
Micky  could  never  explain  what  happened 
then;  he  only  knew  that  with  the  same  tre- 
mendous desire  to  be  well  which  he  had 
nursed  for  weeks  came  a  restraining  im- 
pulse more  powerful  yet.  With  a  quick 
movement  he  placed  himself  behind  Reddy, 
saying  to  the  surgeon :  "  Go  ahead  and  try 
him,  please.  I  like  bein'  lame.  Honest,  I  do. 
They'll  tell  you  so  in  the  alley,  and  he  hates 
it.  Take  him.  He  says  he  got  here  first, 
anyhow." 

There  was  no  time  for  argument  or  de- 
bate. The  surgeon's  day  was  all  parceled 
out  in  small  fragments  of  hours  and  Micky's 
tone  was  conclusive.  The  great  man  laid  a 

18 


MICKY    OF    THE    ALLEY 

hand  on  his  shoulder  again,  saying  kindly: 
"  He  is  grateful  to  you,  I  am  sure.  Come, 
then,  my  boy."  And  with  Reddy  following, 
he  left  the  room,  while  Micky  remained  be- 
hind in  the  rank  and  file  of  those  passed  by. 

Dr.  Gates  was  very  angry  when  he  heard 
of  Micky's  behavior,  expressing  himself  so 
forcibly  to  that  effect  that  tears  came 
to  the  tired  little  lad's  eyes.  He  felt 
that  he  must  have  done  a  very  wrong  thing, 
as  he  tried  to  explain  the  situation  to  Dr. 
Gates,  and  did  not  seem  to  make  his  ex- 
planation satisfactory.  He  felt,  too,  that  he 
had  been  ungrateful  to  the  kind  young  doc- 
tor, and  that  he  was  somehow  responsible  for 
the  severe  cold  in  his  head  which  that  young 
man  seemed  suddenly  to  have  contracted. 

The  only  thing  that  made  him  feel  less 
criminal  and  forlorn  was  the  thought  of 
Reddy's  triumphant  joy,  when  he  marched 
off  with  the  surgeon.  That  recollection 
made  Micky  warm  and  peaceful  inside  while 
he  was  enduring  the  storm  of  protestations 
which  followed  his  return  home,  for  the 

19 


MICKY    OF    THE    ALLEY 

women  were  deeply  chagrined  when  they 
saw  him  coming  home  as  he  had  gone,  and 
heard  of  Keddy's  good  fortune.  Micky  did 
not  offer  an  explanation  of  his  part  in  that 
matter.  Eeddy  had  got  ahead  of  him;  that 
was  enough  to  say,  but  it  was  not  at  all 
pleasant  to  listen  to  the  reproaches  cast 
upon  him  for  letting  himself  be  outdone  by 
a  younger  boy.  Bedtime  came  soon,  how- 
ever, and  he  was  so  tired  that  his  sleep  was 
heavy  and  long,  and  when  he  awoke  the 
world  was  a  blaze  of  sunshine. 

Then  when  he  was  settled  on  his  door- 
step again,  with  no  rival  across  the  street, 
and  the  eager  children  crowding  around  him 
to  hear  his  story  and  ask  questions,  sud- 
denly the  old  joy  of  living  swept  over  him  in 
warm  waves  of  satisfaction.  Once  more  he 
was  Lord  High  Chancellor,  Chief  Justice, 
and  Minister  Plenipotentiary  of  the  Alley, 
and  who  would  not  willingly  be  lame  for 
that  reward? 

He  was  reflecting  sagely  upon  the  mat- 
ter when  his  meditations  were  interrupted 

20 


MICKY    OF    THE    ALLEY 

by  the  unwonted  sight  of  a  cab  drawing  up 
to  the  curb  in  front  of  the  house.  The  vi- 
sion drew  a  dozen  heads  from  as  many  win- 
dows, and  almost  the  entire  household  saw 
Dr.  Gates  jump  from  the  cab,  beam  upon 
Micky,  and  call  out:  "Come,  little  chap, 
come!  You  are  to  have  a  show  to-day,  and 
I'll  stand  by  to  see  you  take  it  this  time! 
That  red-headed  boy  says  to  tell  you  it 
isn't  a  fake,  and  to  come  right  along  and 
try  it." 

At  first  Micky  was  silent  and  reluctant. 
Emotions  of  pleasure  and  resistance  con- 
flicted within  him,  and  to  turn  resignation 
into  anticipation  at  a  moment's  notice  was 
difficult  and  bewildering.  But  Dr.  Gates 
paid  no  attention  to  his  reluctance,  and 
after  a  word  with  one  of  the  women,  carried 
him  off  in  the  cab,  Micky  solemnly  waving 
his  hand  to  the  excited  watching  women  as 
they  drove  off.  Then  a  quick  flush  of  eager- 
ness crimsoned  his  face,  and  deliberately 
and  forever  he  relinquished  his  dreams  of 
power,  as  one  of  ja  kind,  for  the  chance  of 
21 


MICKY    OF    THE    ALLEY 

becoming  one  of  the  many — an  active, 
hearty  boy. 

Hours  later,  as  he  lay  in  the  hospital 
ward,  dreamily  comfortable  after  the  ef- 
fects of  the  ether  had  worn  off,  he  turned 
his  head  at  the  sound  of  a  familiar  voice. 
Reddy!  In  the  next  cot  lay  his  rival,  his 
head  looking  like  a  cloud  of  flame  against 
the  snowy  pillow  and  his  eyes  lighted  with 
real  pleasure  such  as  Micky  had  never  seen 
in  them  before. 

"Hello!"  he  said,  and  his  rough  voice 
actually  trembled  with  emotion.  "  Ain't  this 
a  jolly  go?  Soon  as  I  found  out  'twasn't  no 
fake,  I  jawed  at  that  kid  doctor  ter  go  an' 
tell  yer  so.  'Tain't  no  fun  ter  get  bones  in 
place  o'  holes,  an'  ceilin'  plaster  caked  on  yer 
legs  widout  another  feller  ter  go  ye  one 
better.  You  bet  it'll  hurt  like  blue  blazes 
'fore  we  get  there,  but  that  don't  cut  no  ice 
when  there's  two  on  us,  an' — "  Reddy  hesi- 
tated, then  with  a  merry  wink  added :  "  An' 
I  say,  Micky,  when  we  do  get  legs,  let's 
make  the  alley  howl!  We  won't  git  made 
22 


MICKY    OF    THE    ALLEY 

over    fer    nothink,    bet    yer    life    on    that, 
will  we?" 

And  Micky,  rousing  from  his  peaceful 
dreams  of  sunsets,  meadows,  and  running 
brooks,  seen  in  earlier  days,  smiled  assent; 
then  lay  in  quiet  happiness,  awaiting  the 
issue  of  his  destiny. 


23 


A  MILLINERY   OPENING 


A   MILLINERY   OPENING 


"  WELL,"  said  Louise,  drawing  a  bit  of 
paper  from  her  pocket,  "  here  is  the  mem- 
orandum I  have  made,  and  as  nearly  as  I 
can  see,  we  can  do  the  whole  thing  for  thirty 
dollars  —  carpet,  paper,  and  all  —  or  for  forty 
at  the  very  outside.  Now  listen  while  I 
read  the  list,"  she  added,  then  read  aloud 
her  itemized  account  of  details  to  wide-eyed 
Helen,  to  whom  her  sister's  decisive  actions 
were  always  a  revelation. 

"  There  !  "  said  Louise,  looking  up  tri- 
umphantly. "  Isn't  that  well  planned?  You 
see,  the  whole  sum,  leaving  a  margin  for  in- 
cidentals, is  thirty  dollars,  and  I  believe  we 
could  make  it  just  as  well  as  not." 

"  It  is  a  great  deal  of  money,"  said  Helen 
doubtfully  —  she  could  never  jump  to  the  en- 
thusiasm of  a  colossal  plan  as  Louise  could. 
27 


A    MILLINERY    OPENING 

"  I  don't  exactly  see  how  we  two  alone  could 
make  it,  though  of  course  it  would  be  per- 
fectly lovely  if  we  only  could.  But  where 
would  our  materials  come  from?  And  do 
you  suppose  mother  would  approve  of  our 
doing  it?  " 

Louise  puckered  up  her  eyebrows  in  a 
tremendous  frown.  When  one  is  very  much 
excited  over  a  scheme  it  is  rather  trying 
to  be  opposed,  and  she  looked  disturbed  at 
Helen's  words. 

"  I  don't  think  anything  about  it,"  she 
said  majestically,  "  I  know!  If  I  were  so 
faint-hearted  I  wouldn't  confess  it  for  any- 
thing! Do  you  think  mother  wants  us  to  tie 
our  talents  up  tight  in  napkins?  Why  do 
you  suppose  I  was  given  a  taste  for  trim- 
ming hats,  if  it  wasn't  so  I  could  take  care  of 
mother  when  she  was  sick?  Of  course  we 
ought  to  do  it.  I  know  she  would  approve. 
It  isn't  as  if  we  were  going  to  take  bread  out 
of  some  poor  girl's  mouth  by  doing  it.  That 
old  sanatorium  has  eaten  up  all  mother's 
money,  and  I  don't  think  she  ought  to  come 

28 


A    MILLINERY    OPENING 

back  to  the  dingy  room  where  she  was  sick 
so  long.  She  hasn't  anybody  but  us  to  take 
care  of  her,  and  I  am  going  to.  If  you  don't 
want  to  help,  you  needn't!  " 

Loui^  was  always  queenly  when  she  was 
provokea,  her  eyes  were  so  large  and  her 
cheeks  so  red.  Helen  looked  admiringly 
at  her,  and  answered  meekly: 

"  Of  course,  if  it  is  decided,  I  will  help  all 
I  can,  but — 

"  There  isn't  any  but,"  said  Louise  with 
decision.  "  We  must  make  up  our  minds 
that  it  can  be  done,  and  that  we  will  carry 
it  through.  Now  the  question  is,  how  to 
get  money  to  buy  our  materials." 

"  How  much  will  it  take?  " 

"  Fifty  dollars,  I  think,  if  we  have  any 
sort  of  stock." 

"  Fifty  dollars!  Why,  that's  more  than 
we  need  to  make! " 

"  Of  course  it  is,"  said  Louise  with  a  very 
superior  air.  "  Much  you  know  about  busi- 
ness! You  have  to  take  risks  to  make  any- 
thing. Any  man  will  tell  you  that.  That 
29 


A    MILLINERY    OPENING 

does  not  trouble  me.  What  I  want  to  know 
is,  where  to  get  the  money." 

Helen  twisted  a  wisp  of  hair  between 
her  thumb  and  finger — a  sure  sign  that  her 
thoughts  were  busy — and  was  silent  for 
some  time,  while  Louise  was  figuring  with 
paper  and  pencil. 

"I  have  it,  I  have  it!"  Helen  cried,  so 
suddenly  that  Louise  dropped  her  pencil  in 
surprise;  "Judge  Emory  is  the  person!  He 
loves  mother  and  is  fond  of  us.  I  am  sure 
he  will  do  it." 

Louise  beamed.  "  Exactly  the  man. 
How  did  you  ever  think  of  him?  We  will 
tell  him  all  about  it,  and  give  him  a  signed 
paper  for  security  if  he  wants  it;  for  it  will 
be  only  a  loan,  of  course." 

"  Suppose  we  can't  ever  pay  him?  "  sug- 
gested Helen  dubiously. 

"  Pooh!  "  said  Louise.  "  We  will!  Come 
on!  Let's  go  right  away  and  see  him  now." 

Louise  flew  for  her  hat,  in  her  own  im- 
pulsive way,  found  Helen's  too,  tossed  it  to 
her,  piled  up  the  books  from  which  they  had 

30 


A    MILLINERY    OPENING 

been  studying,  and  away  they  went,  arm  in 
arm. 

A  word  of  explanation  while  they  are 
gone.  After  Mr.  Haye's  death,  as  Mrs. 
Haye  did  not  feel  equal  to  the  expense  of 
keeping  up  the  large  house,  Mrs.  Smith 
leased  it,  turned  it  into  a  boarding-house, 
and  the  Hayes  remained  in  two  sunny  front 
rooms  as  boarders.  And  it  was  well  that 
matters  were  so  arranged,  for  not  long  after 
Mrs.  Haye  gave  way  to  nervous  prostration, 
a  result  of  the  strain  of  her  husband's  long 
sickness,  and  was  obliged  to  go  to  a  sana- 
torium, where  she  had  been  for  six  months. 
They  would  have  been  dreary,  lonesome 
months  for  the  girls  if  they  had  not  been  in 
the  care  of  such  a  motherly  soul  as  Mrs. 
Smith.  As  it  was,  it  had  been  hard  enough 
for  them  both;  but  bright,  resolute  Louise 
had  shouldered  all  the  burdens  of  care  and 
responsibility  and  kept  Helen  happy  and 
contented. 

Now  there  had  come  a  letter  from  Mrs. 
Haye  saying  that  on  the  day  before  Christ- 
31 


A    MILLINERY    OPENING 

mas  she  would  be  again  at  home,  and  it  was 
this  letter  which  led  to  the  making  of  their 
plans. 

Ever  since  she  could  remember,  Louise 
had  shown  a  marked  talent  for  millinery, 
and  had  trimmed  the  hats  of  her  relatives, 
friends,  and  protegees.  Given  a  plain  round 
frame  and  simple  trimming,  her  knack  could 
transform  them  into  a  dainty  creation  for 
the  head.  It  was  no  wonder  that  every  one 
said  to  her: 

"  Well,  you  certainly  ought  to  be  a  mil- 
liner! " 

And  so,  as  she  cast  about  for  ways  and 
means  by  which  to  transform  her  mother's 
room  from  its  dingy,  worn-out  state  into 
freshness,  the  idea  had  come  to  her — hats! 
Just  the  thing!  And  in  her  characteristic 
way,  she  had  first  seen  the  paperer,  found  out 
the  cost  of  what  she  wished  done,  thought 
it  all  out,  and  said,  "  I'll  do  it! "  with  a  de- 
cision that  no  obstacles  could  daunt. 

Judge  Emory  received  the  girls  with  a 
hearty  welcome,  for  they  were  great  favor- 
32 


A    MILLINERY    OPENING 

ites  of  his;  as,  indeed,  they  were  with  almost 
every  one — they  were  so  bright  and  whole- 
some, with  none  of  the  airs  which  many 
girls  of  fifteen  and  sixteen  affect.  Louise 
carefully  laid  the  scheme  before  the  old  gen- 
tleman. 

"  It  is  an  immense  amount,  we  know," 
she  said  seriously.  "  But  really,  judge,  we 
will  do  our  best  to  pay  it  back  right  away, 
and  we  will  never  forget  your  goodness." 

The  judge  tried  his  best  to  suppress  a 
smile  that  trembled  on  his  lips,  but  a  sus- 
picion of  it  lingered  as  he  answered  gravely: 

"  Yes,  it  is  a  large  sum;  but  for  the  sake 
of  old  friendship,  I  will  try  to  accommodate 
you,  and  I  think  I  will  risk  it  without  any 
security  but  your  word." 

Louise  clasped  her  hands  with  a  sigh  of 
relief. 

"  Oh,  we  are  so  thankful,"  she  said. 
"You  can't  even  guess  how  glad!"  as  the 
judge  took  out  some  bills  and  handed  her 
the  ten  fives.  Then  Mrs.  Emory  came  in  and 
insisted  that  they  should  stay  for  luncheon. 
33 


A    MILLINERY    OPENING 

At  the  table  the  great  plan  was  unfolded  to 
her,  and  she  was  as  interested  and  enthusi- 
astic as  they  could  wish. 

"  You  see,"  said  Louise,  "  I  couldn't  have 
a  bit  of  pleasure  in  doing  it  if  it  was  going 
to  take  the  living  away  from  any  one.  But 
the  people  whom  we  shall  ask  to  our  sale 
will  not  be  ones  who  ever  buy  hats  any- 
where but  in  New  York,  and  besides  that, 
to  be  perfectly  fair  and  square,  I  shall  go  to 
Miss  Foley,  tell  her  all  about  it,  and  say 
that  if  she  thinks  we  take  away  any  of  her 
custom,  and  my  hats  are  admired,  I  will 
work  for  her  afterward  until  I  make  up  the 
loss  to  her.  Isn't  that  perfectly  honorable, 
Mrs.  Emory?  " 

"  I  think  it  is  just  what  your  mother's 
daughters  ought  to  do,  my  dear,"  answered 
Mrs.  Emory  affectionately.  "  And  I  will 
help  you  all  I  can." 

This  was  in  the  middle  of  October,  and 
for  the  next  six  weeks  the  girls  worked  like 
beavers,  out  of  school  hours,  getting  their 
materials,  planning  how  to  use  them,  and 

34 


A    MILLINERY    OPENING 

arranging  all  the  details.  As  the  hats  began 
to  grow  under  their  skilful  fingers  their 
interest  and  pleasure  heightened  so  greatly 
that  had  not  Mrs.  Smith  interfered  and  in- 
sisted on  fresh  air  and  amusement  they 
would  have  spent  all  their  time  in  the  be- 
loved workroom. 

Louise  was  forewoman,  originating  most 
of  the  ideas,  combining  the  colors,  and  doing 
the  outside  work,  while  Helen  put  in  the 
facings  and  crown  linings,  and  did  it  beau- 
tifully, too,  for  she  was  the  pink  of  neat- 
ness in  everything  she  undertook. 

An  interested  friend  who  was  eager  that 
the  sale  should  be  a  success  gave  them  the 
idea  of  making  gay  bandboxes  by  covering 
plain  ones  with  pretty,  inexpensive  wall- 
papers. So  with  all  the  branches  of  their 
business  they  were  well  supplied  with  work. 

Mrs.  Smith  had  an  unused  attic  room 
which  she  let  them  use  for  a  workroom,  and 
there  as  the  days  went  by  the  pile  of  filled 
boxes  grew,  until — toward  the  end  of  No- 
vember— everything  was  ready  for  the  sale. 
35 


A    MILLINERY    OPENING 

The  boxes — pink,  blue,  lilac,  black,  and 
gilt,  matching  their  contents  as  nearly  as 
possible — were  so  fascinating  to  the  girls 
that  they  could  scarcely  bear  to  leave  them 
for  meals  or  sleep,  and  they  counted  and 
fingered  them  over  and  over  and  over. 

No  one  but  Mrs.  Smith  was  allowed  to 
see  their  treasures  beforehand,  for  Louise 
wished  them  to  burst  upon  the  public  as  a 
magnificent  whole;  so  there  was  no  way  of 
knowing  whether  they  would  be  a  success  or 
not,  because  although  Mrs.  Smith  was  loud 
in  her  praises,  the  girls  felt  that  she  was 
probably  prejudiced  in  their  favor. 

Mr.  Smith,  who  was  kindness  itself,  had 
little  cards  of  announcement  printed  to  be 
sent  out,  which  read: 

MLLE.  LOUISE 
requests  your  presence  at  her 

OPENING! 
To  be  held  at  242  Center  St.,  November  25th. 

Hats!    Bonnets!    Novelties! 

Suited  to  all  tastes  and  at  lowest  prices. 

36 


A    MILLINERY    OPENING 

These  had  to  be  addressed,  and  then  the 
girls  delivered  them  during  their  afternoon 
walks. 

Then  came  the  final  stitches  and  pricing; 
and  the  great  day  was  at  hand! 

Louise  was  up  at  sunrise,  peering  anx- 
iously through  the  blinds  to  satisfy  herself 
that  it  was  not  raining,  but  could  tell  very 
little  about  the  weather,  as  there  was  a 
thick  fog;  so  back  to  bed  she  went,  and 
finally  awoke  in  a  blaze  of  sunshine  with 
Helen  shaking  her  and  crying: 

"Wake  up!  Wake  up!  It  is  a  perfect 
day,  and  there  are  so  many  things  to  do! " 

The  exhibition  was  to  be  in  their  mother's 
room,  where  the  bed  had  been  taken  down, 
leaving  plenty  of  space  for  hats  and  people; 
and  the  girls  set  to  work  arranging  things, 
giving  the  bonnets  loving  little  pats  of  ad- 
miration as  they  came  out  of  their  boxes. 

Miss    Foley,  the  milliner,  had  thanked 

Louise  warmly  for  her  generous  offer,  and, 

far  from  seeming  provoked  about  the  sale, 

had  offered  to  lend — not  rent,  but  lend — 

37 


A    MILLINERY    OPENING 

frames  on  which  to  exhibit  the  hats;  so  it 
was  a  comparatively  easy  matter  to  ar- 
range them. 

"I  feel  just  as  if  they  were  friends,  don't 
you,  Louise?  "  said  Helen,  as  she  held  in  her 
hand  a  dainty  evening  bonnet  of  forget-me- 
nots  and  silver  ribbon.  "  This  one  I  really 
love,  and  I  shall  miss  it  dreadfully." 

"Which  is  it?"  said  Louise  in  her 
bustling  way.  "  Oh,  yes,  the  forget-me-not 
one.  Here,  give  it  to  me.  It  is  just  what  I 
want  by  this  black  picture  hat  with  feath- 
ers." 

Louise  had  no  mind  for  sentiment  then, 
she  was  knee-deep  in  business,  enveloped 
in  a  huge  apron — a  duster  thrown  over  her 
shoulder;  so  Helen  put  aside  her  affection 
for  the  hats  and  tried  to  look  upon  them  as 
articles  of  commerce. 

"There!"  she  exclaimed,  as  Louise  gave 
a  last  touch  to  one  table.  "  Those  are  ex- 
actly right!  Each  brings  out  the  effect  of 
the  other.  They  look  stunning!  " 

There  were  in  all  three  dozen  bon- 
38 


A  millinery  opening. 


A    MILLINERY    OPENING 

nets  and  hats.  Some  sober  bonnets,  suit- 
able for  older  women,  trimmed  in  jets  and 
handsome  velvets;  a  dozen  big  Gainsbor- 
oughs,  turned  up  in  coquettish  shapes,  and 
made  too  daring — with  their  knots  of  vivid 
color  mixed  in  with  the  feathers — for  any 
but  picturesque  young  faces;  some  walking 
hats,  only  ornamented  with  bands  and  stiff 
wings;  a  few  pretty,  simple  children's  hats; 
and — what  the  girls  were  fondest  of,  and 
Louise  had  expended  her  greatest  ingenuity 
upon  —  dainty  evening  bonnets  —  "  holes 
with  ribbon  around  them,"  as  Helen  called 
them.  They  were  prettiest  of  all,  in  silver 
and  gold  and  softest  shades  of  ribbon,  com- 
bined with  roses  and  violets  and  the  dainti- 
est aigrets  attainable. 

"  Do  you  suppose  we  have  asked  too 
much  for  them? "  Helen  said  dubiously, 
balancing  on  her  hand  one  of  her  particular 
favorites — made  of  moss-green  twisted  vel- 
vet and  violets.  "  Eight  dollars  seems  a 
great  deal  to  pay  for  this." 

"Too  much!"  echoed  Louise.  "Why, 
*  39 


A    MILLINERY    OPENING 

Helen  Haye,  we  are  asking  five  dollars  less 
than  any  milliner  would  for  every  one,  and 
the  materials  cost  more  than  they  would 
have  paid,  for  we  got  the  best.  Too  much? 
I  guess  not!" 

"  Girls,"  said  Mrs.  Smith,  looking  in  at 
them,  "are  you  ready  for  people?  It  is 
eleven  o'clock  now." 

Helen  hastily  placed  the  hat  which  she 
was  holding,  while  Louise  gave  a  last  whisk 
of  the  duster  over  the  polished  table,  and 
they  hurried  out — stopping  at  the  door  TO 
note  the  effect. 

"  It  is  perfect!  "  said  Helen. 

"  Not  a  single  person  will  come,  and  it 
will  be  a  failure,  I  know! "  exclaimed  Louise 
dismally,  which  remark  showed  plainly  her 
overtired  state.  But  the  doleful  prophecy 
was  nipped  in  the  bud  by  a  ring  at  the  bell. 

"  My  heart  beats  so  fast  I  can't  breathe," 
said  Helen.  "  O  Louise,  do  you  suppose  it 
is  some  one?  Quick — take  off  that  apron." 

It  was  somebody,  and  the  bell  kept  on 
ringing  steadily  all  day.  Every  one  was  so 

40 


A    MILLINERY    OPENING 

enthusiastic  that  Louise  and  Helen  were 
perfectly  amazed,  and  if  it  had  not  been  for 
Mrs.  Smith's  help,  I  fear  they  would  have 
forgotten  the  prices  of  the  hats — they  were 
so  excited.  Some  friends  of  the  girls  came 
out  of  real  interest,  others  from  curiosity; 
but  once  there,  every  one  said  the  same 
thing: 

"  How  pretty!  How  cheap!  What  tal- 
ent you  have!  Did  you  really  make  them 
yourselves?"  until  the  girls  began  to  rattle 
off  the  answers  like  machines. 

In  the  morning  every  one  admired  and 
looked,  but  no  one  bought,  and  Louise  began 
to  fear  that  nothing  would  be  sold.  But  in 
the  afternoon  it  was  quite  different;  every 
one  seemed  determined  to  buy  something, 
and  at  six  o'clock  there  was  only  a  single 
bonnet  left  on  its  frame  in  the  deserted 
room,  while  in  Louise's  possession  was  a  list 
of  orders  for  a  dozen  more  hats,  as  well  as  a 
substantial  roll  of  bills. 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Smith,  as  the  two  girls 
came  down  into  the  library,  "  if  that  didn't 
41 


A    MILLINERY    OPENING 

beat  all  for  a  success!  I've  been  telling 
Charley  about  it,  and  he  thinks  it  was  won- 
derful." 

"  Do  you  think  they  bought  them  because 
they  felt  they  had  to?" 

"Indeed,  they  did  not!"  Mrs.  Smith 
spoke  emphatically.  "  That's  exactly  what 
I  was  saying.  They  were  all  taken  with  get- 
ting so  much  for  their  money.  I  watched 
them!" 

"  Well,  I  am  thankful"  said  Helen  from 
the  depths  of  the  chair  into  which  she  had 
thrown  herself. 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  tired! "  groaned  Louise 
from  the  sofa.  "  But  wasn't  it  jolly? 
Wasn't  it  funny?  It  seems  just  like  a 
dream.  But  I'm  too  tired  even  to  count  up 
what  we  made." 

"  I  am  not,"  said  Mrs.  Smith.  "  Here, 
give  me  the  paper,  child.  Of  course  you  are 
worn  out.  I  knew  you  would  be.  I'll 
reckon  it  up  for  you." 

She  and  Helen  drew  up  to  the  table 
under  the  light,  and  Louise  watched  them 

42 


A    MILLINERY    OPENING 

with  drowsy  interest.  It  was  so  nice  to 
think  that  it  was  all  over  and  there  was 
nothing  to  be  done  that  minute! 

"  All  the  bonnets  sold  for  ten  dollars  a 
piece,  didn't  they?  "  asked  Mrs.  Smith. 

"  Eight  did,  and  four  for  only  eight,"  an- 
swered Louise  lazily. 

Mrs.  Smith  went  on  figuring  busily  and 
Helen  helped  her,  reading  from  the  list  the 
prices  of  the  hats  sold,  while  Louise  listened 
with  half-shut  eyes.  Finally  they  had  it  all 
down. 

tf  Now  let's  add  it  up  and  see  what  it 
makes,"  said  Helen  eagerly,  and  Mrs.  Smith 
read  aloud: 

"  8  bonnets  at  $10.00 $80.00 

4  bonnets  at  $8.00 32.00 

6  hats  at  $10.00 60.00 

6  plain  ones  at  $5.00 30.00 

4  children's  hats  at  $6.00 24.00 

8  theater  bonnets  at  $8.00. . .   64.00  " 


Then  Helen  gave  a  scream. 
"O   Louise,   Louise,   quick!    Come   here 
43 


A    MILLINERY    OPENING 

and  see  what  it  makes!  Do  you  see?  Do 
you  think  it  can  be  true?  f 290.00!  Why,  I 
never  thought  of  such  a  thing! " 

Louise's  sleepiness  was  gone!  She  was 
at  the  table  in  a  flash,  staring  at  the  paper 
with  the  figures  on  it. 

"Why,  yes,"  she  said  slowly;  "f 290.00! 
It  is  actually  true.  Oh!  oh!  oh!  Isn't 
it  too  delicious?  Just  think  of  all  we  can 
buy,  even  after  we  pay  up!  You  dear, 
blessed  creature! " 

Louise  seized  Helen  around  the  waist 
and  whirled  her  around  and  around  the 
room  until — breathless — they  were  obliged 
to  drop  into  the  nearest  chairs,  Louise 
gasping: 

"  Either — they — were — very — kind,  or  - 
else  —  our  —  talent  —  is  good — for  —  some- 
thing!" 

"  I  think  it  was  a  little  of  both,"  said 
Mrs.  Smith.  "  Come  to  tea,  children,  you 
must  be  fainting  away." 

Such  fun  as  it  was,  seeing  the  look  of 
surprise  on  Judge  Emory's  face  when  they 

44 


A    MILLINERY    OPENING 

repaid  him  his  loan  and  told  him  of  their 
success.  But  a  greater  delight  than  that 
was  buying  the  pretty  new  furnishings  for 
the  room  and  transforming  it.  In  the  mat- 
ter of  carpets  and  furniture  they  asked  Mrs. 
Smith's  help,  not  feeling  competent  them- 
selves to  judge  of  the  quality,  and  their 
taste — combined  with  the  older  woman's 
judgment — made  all  their  purchases  suc- 
cessful. 

Of  course  people  had  asked  the  reason 
for  the  sale  and  been  interested  in  the 
object  of  it,  and  to  several  friends  whom 
they  knew  well  the  girls  showed  the  room 
after  the  very  last  touches  had  been  com- 
pleted. 

"  Now,  when  I  fill  my  orders,"  Louise  ex- 
plained to  Mrs.  Emory,  "  we  shall  have 
enough  money  to  buy  wines  and  hothouse 
grapes  and  any  delicacies  that  the  doctor 
may  order  when  mother  needs  them.  It  will 
be  so  lovely  to  feel  that  we  can  really  show 
her  how  glad  we  are  that  she  is  back! " 

"  So  lovely,  dear,  that  you  may  be 
45 


A    MILLINERY    OPENING 

tempted  to  keep  on  with  it.  It  seems  plain 
that  it  is  your  vocation." 

Louise  shook  her  head.  "  That  will  be 
just  as  mother  thinks  best,"  she  said.  "  And 
it  depends  on  how  well  she  feels,  too.  I 
think  she  would  rather  have  me  keep  on  with 
my  studies  for  a  while  longer.  But  it  is  so 
nice  to  know  that  I  have  something  to  turn 
to  if  we  need  it,  isn't  it?  " 

"  Indeed  it  is,  dear."  Mrs.  Emory  looked 
admiringly  at  the  bright  face  before  her  as 
she  spoke.  "  No  girl  should  be  without 
a  resource.  I  am  proud  of  you  both."  The 
childless  woman  passed  out  with  a  smile 
that  turned  to  a  sigh  as  she  thought  of  Mrs. 
Haye's  wealth  in  having  two  such  daugh- 
ters. 

It  was  Christmas  eve  when  Mrs.  Haye 
found  herself  once  more  at  home,  with  her 
girls  quite  matured  and  changed,  but  dearer 
than  ever  as  they  hung  over  her,  smothering 
her  with  caresses.  None  of  them  could  say 
much  in  those  first  hours;  their  feelings 
were  too  deep  and  real  for  noisy  demonstra- 

46 


A    MILLINERY    OPENING 

tion,  but  all  their  faces  reflected  what  they 
felt. 

"  You  will  not  mind,  will  you,  Mamsie 
dear?  "  queried  Louise,  looking  lovingly  up 
into  the  dear  face,  so  long  absent;  uyou 
won't  mind  sleeping  in  our  room,  just  for 
to-night?  Your  room  has  been  cleaned, 
and  it  will  not  be  ready  for  you  until  to- 
morrow." 

"  I  mind  nothing,  dear,  so  long  as  I  am 
with  my  girls  again." 

"  It  was  just  like  a  toothache  all  the 
time,  only  I  did  not  know  it  until  I  saw  you, 
you  precious  old  darling!"  cried  Helen, 
snuggling  up  closer  to  her  mother  as  she 
spoke. 

That  night  the  girls  spent  in  an  unused 
third-story  room,  but  they  slept  very  little; 
they  were  too  much  excited  for  such  a  com- 
monplace thing  as  sleep.  Finally,  however, 
it  came,  and  it  seemed  only  a  minute  later 
when  they  were  awakened  by  their  mother's 
voice  beside  them  calling: 

"Merry  Christmas,  girlies!" 
47 


A    MILLINERY    OPENING 

Then  the  joy  of  it  all  came  over  them 
that  it  was  not  a  dream,  but  a  blessed  real- 
ity; that  they  were  motherless  no  longer; 
that  the  sale  was  over  and  the  surprise  near 
at  hand. 

They  did  not  waste  much  time  over 
breakfast,  although  it  was  a  holiday  one 
with  an  extra  touch  of  niceness,  for  they 
could  hardly  wait  to  give  their  present. 
They  began  hurrying  up  and  down  stairs 
so  many  times  and  with  such  an  air  of 
having  important  business  on  hand  that 
Mrs.  Have  retired  to  the  library  to  await 
developments,  wondering  what  they  were 
doing. 

Presently  they  came  flying  in  with  rosy 
cheeks  and  eyes  sparkling  with  excite- 
ment. 

"  Now,"  said  Louise  as  she  fastened  a 
sprig  of  holly  in  her  mother's  dress  and 
Helen  put  one  in  her  hair,  "  now,  Mamsie, 
we  will  escort  you  to  your  room."  Louise's 
voice  fairly  trembled  as  she  put  her  moth- 
er's arm  through  hers. 

48 


A    MILLINERY    OPENING 

At  the  landing  of  the  stairs  Mrs.  Haye 
paused  for  breath,  and  Helen  ran  ahead 
and  opened  a  door  from  which  a  flood  of 
light  streamed  out.  When  she  reached  the 
threshold  the  girls  cried  out  together: 

"  Merry  Christmas,  Manisie!  Happy  New 
Year!  Bless  you  every  day  in  the  year! 
Come  in  and  sit  down." 

On  the  wall  was  a  paper  fresh  with  a 
wealth  of  flowers  and  garlands;  on  the  floor 
was  a  plain  olive  carpet  that  gave  a  warmth 
of  coloring,  and  on  which  the  furniture 
showed  up  well,  and  in  front  of  bureau  and 
bed  lay  fluffy  white-fur  rugs.  The  white 
and  gold  bed  had  valance  and  pillow-shams 
of  dotted  swiss;  the  bureau  had  a  pretty  new 
lace  covering;  an  enameled  screen  with  silk 
curtains  hid  the  wash-stand  from  sight;  a 
divan  running  the  length  of  the  bow- window 
was  covered  with  cheery  cretonne  and  piled 
with  cushions,  and  beside  it  stood  a  low 
table,  holding  a  work-basket  and  a  vase  of 
spicy  carnations;  while  on  the  walls  hung 
several  framed  flower  studies;  and  in  the 
49 


A    MILLINERY    OPENING 

fireplace — long  unused — crackled  a  wood- 
fire  on  bright  andirons. 

Mrs.  Haye  advanced  a  step  into  the  room, 
caught  her  breath,  looked  around  her  in  a 
dazed  sort  of  way,  and  then  at  the  girls' 
beaming  faces. 

"  I  do  not  understand — quite — "  she  said. 
"  What  does  this — where  did — I  mean— 
what  has  happened?  " 

In  a  second  the  girls  were  hugging  her, 
and  had  her  seated  and  put  in  her  lap  a 
bandbox. 

"  It  was  Santa  Glaus  who  did  it  all," 
said  Helen  roguishly.  "  He  came  down 
your  chimney,  and  no  sooner  had  he  seen 
how  dingy  your  room  was  than — presto, 
change!  He  left  this  box  and  note  for 
you." 

Louise  untied  the  knot — for  her  moth- 
er's fingers  refused  to  do  it — and  out  of 
the  box  Mrs.  Haye  lifted  a  handsome 
bonnet. 

"There!  That  is  the  note  and  the  ex- 
planation in  one,"  cried  Louise,  dancing 

50 


A    MILLINERY    OPENING 

around  her.  "  That  is  who,  what,  when, 
where,  and  why!  Your  own  little  worthless 
daughters  did  it,  Mamsie  dear,  to  show  you 
what  they  could  do — and  the  whole  room  is 
made  out  of— 

"  Hats,"  interrupted  Helen,  eager  for  a 
word. 

"  Isn't  it  pretty?    Don't  you  like  it?  " 

"  I  chose  the  paper  because  you  love  wild 
flowers." 

"  And  I  made  all  the  cushions  my- 
self  " 

"  O  Mamsie,  do  you  like  it?  " 

They  were  both  talking  at  once  now,  and 
they  broke  off  and  looked  expectantly  at 
their  mother. 

Not  a  single  word  said  Mrs.  Haye,  and  an 
anxious  frown  began  to  gather  on  Louise's 
face.  Had  all  their  work  been  for  nothing? 
Was  she  displeased? 

Over  each  detail  of  the  room,  from  ceil- 
ing to  floor,  roved  the  mother's  eyes  again 
—as  if  trying  to  fix  it  in  her  mind  as  a  ver- 
ity. Then  suddenly — she  gathered  the  girls 
51 


in  such  a  tight  embrace  that  her  face  rested 
on  the  two  glossy  heads. 

"Little  women!"  she  murmured,  pride 
and  joy  shining  in  her  eyes  and  choking  her 
voice.  "Blessed,  darling  little  women!  I 
am  rich  indeed! " 


52 


OTHELLO,  JR. 


OTHELLO,  JR. 


IT  was  a  year  since  the  formation  of  the 
Seaville  Shakespeare  Society,  and  the  anni- 
versary was  to  be  celebrated  with  an  un- 
usually fine  meeting. 

The  club  members  worked  busily  all  the 
morning  in  the  old  barn,  until  it  was  trans- 
formed into  a  homelike  clubroom.  Flags 
were  draped  across  the  haymows,  strings  of 
lanterns  were  hung  over  the  wide  path  lead- 
ing from  the  front  door,  and  in  the  carriage- 
room  beyond,  the  vehicles,  decorated  with 
gay  rugs  and  comfortables,  were  ranged 
against  the  wall  as  seats  for  the  members. 
The  stalls  were  also  draped,  and  on  the  wall 
hung  a  large  engraving  of  Shakespeare.  In 
the  center  of  the  carriage-room  stood  a  table 
holding  a  lamp  and  the  club-books,  while  the 
president's  seat,  which  was  a  sleigh,  gor- 
5  55 


OTHELLO,   JR. 

geously  draped  with  turkey-red,  was  placed 
by  the  farther  end  of  the  table. 

"  Pretty  fine,  isn't  it?  "  Hal  Griffith  dis- 
mounted from  a  step-ladder  and  stood,  ham- 
mer in  hand,  admiring  the  festive  scene. 

"Fine — I  should  say  so!"  answered 
Eliot  Graves,  while  Mabel  Wright  and  Alice 
Griffith  exclaimed,  "Perfectly  lovely!"  and 
Mabel  added  in  her  quiet  way:  "Dear  old 
Shakespeare,  doesn't  he  look  sweet,  all 
dressed  up  so?  Bless  him! " 

"  He  looks  like  what  he  was,  '  a  scholar, 
and  a  ripe  and  good  one,'  "  said  Hal  enthusi- 
astically, turning  toward  the  door  as  he 
spoke,  and  exclaiming,  with  a  surprised  lit- 
tle whistle: 

"  Halloa,  young  man,  who  are  you?  " 

In  the  doorway  stood  a  small  negro,  his 
hands  deep  in  his  ragged  pockets,  and  his 
bright  eyes  eagerly  glancing  at  all  that  he 
could  see;  not  in  the  least  abashed  by  the 
size  of  the  audience  staring  at  him. 

"  I'se  Mose  Jenkins,  an'  my  ma  wash 
clo'es  fur  yo'  ma,"  he  announced,  adding, 

56 


OTHELLO,    JR. 

"I  want  ter  come  in!"  With  which  state- 
ment he  proceeded  to  seat  himself  tailor 
fashion  on  the  floor,  and  look  around  him. 

"  Dis  yere's  a  mighty  fine  show,"  he  an- 
nounced coolly.  "  Gwine  ter  hab  a  cake- 
walk?  " 

Mabel  and  the  Myers  giggled,  but  Hal 
answered  soberly:  "No,  not  exactly.  It  is 
the  meeting  of  a  club  in  honor  of  a  man 
whom  we  are  very  fond  of,  William  Shake- 
speare, a  great  dramatist.  Did  you  ever 
hear  of  him?  " 

Mose  shook  his  woolly  head.  "  Nebber 
knowed  no  grammatist.  Mus'  be  mighty 
fine  gemman  ter  hab  dis  yere.  He  lib  in 
dese  parts?  " 

Hal  was  laughing  so  hard  that  Alice  had 
to  answer. 

"  No,"  she  said.  "  He  died  long  before 
you  were  born." 

"  How  missy  knows?  I'se  mighty  ole 
nigger!"  Mose's  eyes  were  twinkling  with 
delight  at  having  a  discussion  with  such  a 
pretty  lady. 

57 


OTHELLO,    JR. 

"  Well,"  said  Alice  severely,  "  I  know  be- 
cause I  do,  that  is  how,  Mose,  and  you  don't 
look  as  if  you  were  more  than  a  hundred 
years  old." 

Mose  chuckled,  watching  her  admiringly 
as  she  continued. 

"  Shakespeare  wrote  some  very  wonder- 
ful plays,  and  for  years  and  years  people 
have  been  acting  them.  Do  you  know  what 
that  is?  " 

The  little  fellow  nodded.  "  I  reckon!  "  he 
said.  "  Fse  done  acted  heap  o'  time.  I'se 
run  away  ter  see  minstrel  show,  an'  den  I 
hab  'em  in  de  woods  and  sing  an'  dance  aw- 
ful libely.  Missy  like  ter  see  me  dance?  " 

Up  he  got,  and  began  a  regular  planta- 
tion breakdown,  with  all  the  most  approved 
shuffles  and  contortions,  doubling  and  twist- 
ing as  if  he  were  made  of  india-rubber,  at 
the  end  of  which  performance  he  sank  down, 
breathless,  while  Hal  remarked: 

"  But  you  haven't  told  us  yet  why  you 
came  down  here  without  being  asked, 
Mose." 

58 


OTHELLO,    JR. 

Mose  rolled  his  eyes.  "  Fetched  de  shirts 
home  fo'  yo'  ma,  an'  I  seed  missies  totin' 
flowers,  an'  follered  'em.  It's  no  fun  home. 
Nothin'  'cept  littP  niggers  'round.  It's 
mighty  fine  yere! " 

This  was  said  very  wistfully,  but  no  one 
paid  any  attention,  for  just  then  the  dinner 
bell  was  heard  in  the  distance,  and  all  were 
hungry  after  their  hard  work.  There  was 
a  general  rush  from  the  barn,  but  the  small 
negro  did  not  move,  and  Hal,  who  was  impa- 
tient to  shut  the  door,  said  severely:  "  Come 
along,  Mose,  your  time's  up." 

The  boy's  lip  quivered;  he  caught  hold  of 
Alice's  dress  and  looked  up  pleadingly. 

"  Please,  missy,"  he  teased,  "  kin  I  come 
to  de  party?  I'se  crazy  ter  fin'  out  'bout  de 
minstrel  man! " 

Alice  glanced  at  Hal.  "  May  he?  "  she 
asked.  "  I  don't  see  what  harm  he  would 
do."  But  Hal  was  firm. 

"  Let  a  colored  boy  come  where  our  own 
mothers  wanted  to  and  weren't  let?  Not 
much!"  But  seeing  the  boy's  real  disap- 
59 


OTHELLO,    JR. 

pointment  he  added  kindly:  "  I'm  sorry,  lit- 
tle chap,  perhaps  some  day  you  can  come  to 
a  meeting!"  And  Alice  patted  him  on  the 
head,  adding:  "And  I'll  go  to  see  you  very 
soon.  Tell  me  where  you  live." 

"  Down  Thompson's  lane  in  de  little  red 
house."  Mose's  voice  was  almost  sulky, 
but  Alice  appeared  not  to  notice  it. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  said  cheerily,  "  I  know. 
Well,  you  will  see  me  there  soon.  Good- 
by!  "  And  off  she  and  Hal  went  toward  the 
house,  leaving  Mose  turning  around  and 
around  on  his  bare  heels  in  the  dusty  road 
and  looking  very  wistful. 

The  Griffiths  had  been  brought  up  on 
Shakespeare,  and  in  their  home  his  charac- 
ters were  just  as  much  real  persons  as  were 
Washington,  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,  or  the 
Old  Testament  heroes.  All  four  of  the  chil- 
dren had  a  decided  taste  for  acting,  and 
when  they  were  scarcely  old  enough  to  un- 
derstand the  meaning  of  the  words  they 
were  repeating,  would  gather  in  the  garret 
and  go  through  whole  scenes  from  the 

60 


OTHELLO,    JR. 

Shakespeare  plays,  dressed  in  costumes  im- 
provised by  an  interested  mother.  By  de- 
grees they  inspired  their  friends  with  a  like 
interest,  and  at  last  eight  new  actors  had 
joined  the  garret  troupe,  who  acted  the 
scenes  they  had  studied  with  an  abandon 
and  fire  which  many  older  actors  lack.  En- 
thusiasm having  reached  its  highest  pitch, 
the  natural  result  was  a  Shakespeare  club, 
with  blue-satin  badges  and  frequent  meet- 
ings, and  during  the  year  of  its  existence  the 
club  had  been  an  immense  success.  Hal, 
being  the  senior  member,  was  president, 
with  Mary  Watkins  for  secretary,  while 
among  the  other  members  were  the  two 
Myers  boys,  George  and  Harry,  who  always 
wanted  to  take  funny  parts;  Mary  Sinclair; 
shy  Estelle  Hardy;  Eliot  Graves,  a  very 
dignified  fellow,  who  loved  tragic  roles, 
and  as  Hamlet  was  the  star  of  the  group; 
Kalph  and  Edith  Sewall,  next-door  neigh- 
bors of  the  Griffiths;  sweet  little  Mabel 
Wright;  and  the  other  three  Griffiths,  Amy, 
Walter,  and  Alice,  the  last  really  an  unusu- 
61 


OTHELLO,    JR. 

ally  good  little  actress  in  whatever  role  she 
took. 

Promptly  at  eight  o'clock  on  the  anni- 
versary evening  they  marched  into  the  barn 
where  the  rows  of  lanterns  threw  fantas- 
tic shadows  into  the  corners  and  over  the 
hay.  They  filed  in  two  by  two,  the  president 
leading,  brilliant  in  his  gown  of  scarlet  and 
white.  Solemnly  he  mounted  his  seat,  while 
the  others  arranged  themselves  in  the  row 
of  boxes.  Then  with  a  rap  of  his  baton  the 
meeting  came  to  order.  The  secretary 
called  the  roll  and  read  the  report  of  the 
last  meeting,  after  which  she  announced 
that  there  would  be  a  speech  by  the  presi- 
dent, who  rose  slowly,  adjusted  the  folds  of 
his  gown,  cleared  his  throat,  and  began: 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  fellow  members 
with  me  in  the  greatest  living  troupe  of 
Shakespearian  actors  [great  applause],  we 
are  gathered  here  to  celebrate  the  birth  of 
our  club,  which  took  place  just  twelve 
months  and  three  hours  ago,  to  be  strictly 
accurate.  Since  then,  and  I  say  it  mod- 

62 


OTHELLO,    JR. 

estly,  we  have  become  famous.  We  have 
never  missed  a  regular  meeting,  have  al- 
lowed no  other  pleasures  to  interfere  with 
the  club  work,  and  have  done  all  in  our 
power  to  interest  others  in  our  great  mas- 
ter and  his  work.  We  have  acted  parts  of 
many  of  the  most  famous  plays,  thus  adding 
to  the  intelligence  of  the  community,  and 
from  association  in  our  charmed  circle 
many  intimacies  have  been  brought  about, 
which  would  have  seemed  impossible.  For 
instance,  Shylock  and  Queen  Katharine  are 
often  to  be  found  studying  algebra  from  the 
same  book,  Portia  and  Julius  Caesar  enjoy 
frequent  bicycle  rides  together,  while  Car- 
dinal Wolsey  and  Cleopatra  are  bosom 
friends.  [Laughter  and  applause.]  This 
state  of  harmony  and  good-fellowship,  dear 
friends,  was  not  brought  about  even  in 
Shakespeare's  own  time,  when  these  charac- 
ters had  no  affinity  whatever.  So  we  may 
without  conceit  render  honor  where  honor  is 
due,  and  be  proud  of  ourselves—  [Ap- 
plause and  cries  of  "  Hear!  Hear! "]  And 

63 


OTHELLO,    JR. 

Hal  continued,  with  a  flourish  of  his  deco- 
rated arm :  "  Now,  friends,  we  have  a  glori- 
ous page  of  history  behind  us,  let  us  go  from 
glory  unto  greater  glory  and  make  the  new 
year  add  not  only  to  our  fame,  but  to  that 
of  our  great  honorary  member,  William 
Shakespeare.  Three  cheers  for  him,  friends! 
One,  two,  three — now ! " 

Through  the  rafters  and  corners  of  the 
big  old  barn  echoed  prolonged  cheers;  after 
which  Hal  announced  that  the  meeting  was 
open  for  discussion  as  to  what  play  should 
be  given  for  a  grand  public  ending  of  the 
season. 

He  sat  down,  and  Eliot  Graves  at  once 
suggested  giving  Julius  Caesar. 

"  Oh,  no,"  Alice  said  quickly.  "  Let's 
have  Borneo;  that  is  simply  lovely  to  act." 

"  I  think  the  Merchant  of  Venice  would 
be  much  better,"  said  Edith  Sewall,  but  Hal 
shook  his  head.  "  There  are  too  many  char- 
acters in  it;  but  for  that  matter,  so  there  are 
in  all  of  the  plays." 

"  I  tell  you  what,"  broke  in  George 
64 


OTHELLO,    JR. 

eagerly,  "  why  not  have  parts  of  several 
plays?  That  will  give  us  each  a  chance  to 
shine  in  our  crack  role,  and  won't  be  half  so 
hard,  for  we  can  take  just  one  act,  or  a 
scene,  as  we  choose." 

This  idea  met  with  instant  approval,  and 
was  decided  upon  at  once.  Mary  then  sug- 
gested that  the  performance  be  given  in  a 
clearing  in  the  woods  to  the  right  of  the 
barn.  It  was  a  regular  little  amphitheater, 
closed  around  by  fragrant  pines,  carpeted 
with  their  needles,  and  would  seat  a  much 
larger  audience  that  the  house  or  barn. 

"  Oh,  won't  it  be  ideal!  "  exclaimed  Edith 
impulsively.  "  With  the  birds  and  the 
clouds — so  Shakespearian!" 

"  Particularly  if  it  happens  to  be  a  rainy 
day,  or  damp,  and  the  mosquitoes  are  in  trim 
for  a  picnic ! "  said  George,  adding  dramat- 
ically: "  Is  it  a  dagger  that  I  see  before  me? 
Nay,  man,  'tis  but  a  venomous  skeet! " 

All  were  laughing  at  his  action  and  ex- 
pression, when  a  noise  as  of  some  heavy 
thing  falling  came  from  above.  Then  there 

65 


OTHELLO,   JR. 

was  a  groan,  a  chuckle,  a  smothered  scream 
from  beneath  a  pile  of  sliding  hay,  and  a 
small  black  figure  shot  out  to  the  edge  of 
the  haymow  and  clutched  wildly  at  the  side- 
beam. 

"Mose!"  was  the  general  exclamation, 
as  the  boys  ran  to  his  rescue,  for  the  small 
negro  was  still  in  imminent  danger  of  falling. 
Scrambling  up  over  the  hay,  George  and 
Eliot  crawled  out  to  the  edge,  captured  the 
one  foot  sticking  up  through  the  hay,  and  by 
it  dragged  the  intruder  back  to  safety. 

"You  young  rascal,  you!"  exclaimed 
George  as  they  jumped  down  and  shook  the 
hay  out  of  their  clothes.  "  Come  along  and 
explain  this!"  He  tried  to  say  it  severely, 
but  Mose  must  have  seen  the  little  smile 
lurking  around  the  corners  of  his  mouth,  for 
he  followed  his  rescuers  with  a  merry  grin, 
saying  with  a  chuckle,  "  Mos'  fell  on  de  gem- 
mens'  haids! " 

"  Indeed  you  did,  and  I  don't  think  you 
deserved  to  be  caught.  Did  you  forget  I 
said  you  could  not  come?  "  Hal  spoke  in  his 

66 


OTHELLO,    JR. 

most  impressive,  presidential  manner,  and 
Mose  answered  sheepishly: 

"  Yes,  massa,  I  'members.  I'se  feelin' 
terribul  sorry,  'deed  I  do,  but  yo'  see  it's  so 
fine  yere  dat,  clar  ter  goodness,  I  can't  stay 
home.  I'se  hangin'  roun'  de  do',  an'  de  win- 
der wuz  up  "  —  here  Mose  laughed  with  pleas- 
ure at  his  own  recital;  "  in  I  dim',  an'  I  sez, 
young  massa  he  so  kin',  he  let  Mose  sit  on 
de  hay  an'  year  'bout  de  minstrel  man.  Den 
de  cheerin'  done  shake  de  roof  mos'  off,  an' 
clar  ter  goodness,  it  mos'  shake  me  down  on 
de  gemmens'  haids!" 

Thoroughly  pleased  with  his  explana- 
tion, and  with  himself,  Mose  looked  around 
at  Alice  for  approval,  adding: 

"  Please,  missy,  kin  I  be  in  dis  yere  club? 
I'se  mighty  handy,  I  is." 

"  Why,  Mose,"  answered  Alice,  "  you 
don't  deserve  it,  do  you?  Suppose  you  had 
a  party  and  I  should  go  when  you  didn't 
want  me,  how  would  you  feel?" 

Mose  smiled.  "  Dar  wouldn't  nebber  be 
no  party  w'ere  Mose  wouldn't  want  missy, 
67 


OTHELLO,    JR. 

an'  dat's  de  trufe!"  he  said  so  gallantly 
that  a  titter  went  around  the  room,  and 
Alice  had  to  bite  her  lips  to  keep  from 
laughing. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  that  is  very  kind  of 
you,  but  you  see  this  was  different.  We 
didn't  want  you  here.  Now  are  you  sorry 
that  you  were  so  rude?  " 

"  Yes,  missy."  Mose's  tone  was  that  of  a 
penitent,  and  Alice  followed  up  her  advan- 
tage, adding  hastily,  "  And  you  won't  ever 
do  it  again?  " 

This  was  too  much.  For  a  moment  Mose 
evaded  her  glance,  then  he  looked  at  her 
squarely  and  said  boldly: 

"  Better  not  leab  de  winder  up;  I'se  pow- 
erful lonesome,  an'  dat's  de  trufe!  " 

Alice  and  Hal  exchanged  glances,  and 
Hal's  face  expressed  admiration  for  the  lit- 
tle fellow's  candor. 

"  All  right,  Mose,"  he  said  gravely.  "  We 
are  greatly  disappointed  in  you;  that  is  all. 
Nice  boys  don't  sneak  in  like  that.  Miss 
Alice  thought  better  of  you." 

68 


OTHELLO,    JR. 

This  last  sentence  had  the  desired  effect. 
After  an  evident  struggle  with  himself  Mose 
began  to  twist  around  on  his  toes,  and 
finally  said: 

"  I'se  not  comin'  no  mo'."  He  looked  so 
dejected,  however,  that  Alice's  tender  heart 
could  not  bear  it,  and  she  whispered  to  Hal, 
who  said: 

"  So  long  as  you  are  sorry,  Mose,  and 
won't  do  it  again,  you  may  sit  down  now  for 
the  rest  of  the  meeting;  but  don't  make  any 
noise." 

Mose's  face  was  instantly  a  broad  smile 
from  the  tip  of  one  black  ear  to  the  other. 
"  Massa's  mighty  good!  "  he  exclaimed,  drop- 
ping into  his  favorite  position  on  the  floor, 
from  which  he  never  moved  during  the  re- 
mainder of  the  meeting,  and  even  when  it 
had  adjourned  it  was  with  great  reluctance 
that  he  betook  himself  homeward.  When 
he  was  really  out  of  sight  at  last,  there  was 
a  shout  of  laughter. 

"If  he  isn't  the  greatest!"  said  Eliot. 
"  A  regular  young  sticking-plaster." 

69 


OTHELLO,    JR. 

"Well,"  said  Edith,  "if  I  am  not  mis- 
taken, he  is  a  pretty  bright  young  man.  I 
watched  him  when  we  were  all  talking,  and 
he  seemed  as  intelligent  as  could  be;  in  fact, 
I've  taken  a  great  fancy  to  his  majesty! " 

"  Why  not  elect  him  a  member?  "  said 
Alice,  laughing;  "  clerk  of  errands,  page,  or 
something  of  that  sort?  Just  for  fun. 
There  will  be  ever  so  many  odd  jobs  to  be 
done  in  connection  with  the  plays.  It  will 
be  such  sport  to  see  how  he  behaves!  Come 
on,  do!" 

There  was  a  general  demur,  but  it  was 
quickly  overruled  by  Alice,  who  generally 
managed  to  have  matters  go  as  she  wished, 
and  when  the  vote  was  taken  it  was  unani- 
mous in  favor  of  the  new  member.  Accord- 
ingly, the  next  morning  Hal  wrote  a  formal 
note  of  invitation  addressed  to  Moses  Jen- 
kins, Esq.,  who  celebrated  its  reception  by 
a  series  of  somersaults,  chuckles,  and 
spasms  of  laughter,  after  which  he  set  off 
on  a  run  for  the  Griffiths.  He  found  Alice 
and  Amy  on  the  piazza,  and  amused  them 

70 


OTHELLO,    JR. 

greatly  by  dashing  up  the  carriage  drive, 
bounding  up  the  steps,  and  grasping  Alice 
by  both  hands  while  he  exclaimed  wildly: 

"  I'se  glad,  missy,  Fse  glad!  I'se  glad! 
I'se  gwine  ter  nebber  git  tuckered  out  totin' 
fur  yo',  'deed  I  ain't!  Wen's  de  nex'  meet- 
in',  missy?  " 

When  told  that  it  was  to  be  on  the  fol- 
lowing day  his  joy  was  so  great  that  he  was 
obliged  to  stand  on  his  head  for  a  few  sec- 
onds to  calm  his  feelings. 

Alice's  interest  in  the  little  fellow,  whose 
admiration  of  her  was  so  evident,  was  deep 
enough  to  take  her  on  an  exploring  expedi- 
tion to  Thompson's  lane  the  very  next  morn- 
ing, where  she  found  the  little  red  cabin 
without  any  trouble.  It  stood  in  a  clearing 
by  the  roadside,  fully  a  mile  from  any  other 
building,  surrounded  on  three  sides  by  sol- 
emnly impressive  trees,  and  the  place  pre- 
sented such  an  appearance  of  disorder  that 
Alice's  tidy  soul  revolted  from  even  going 
up  to  the  door. 

But  as  Mose  was  not  in  sight,  she  picked 
6  71 


OTHELLO,    JR. 

her  way  through  the  accumulation  of  milk- 
cans,  babies  in  soap-box  perambulators,  and 
household  belongings  with  which  the  entire 
space  in  front  of  the  cabin  was  filled,  and 
discovered  Mrs.  Jenkins  doing  some  wash- 
ing at  the  side  of  the  house. 

The  good-natured-looking  woman  took 
her  hands  out  of  the  suds  and  balanced  them 
on  her  broad  hips,  while  she  smilingly  shook 
her  head  in  answer  to  Alice's  inquiry  for 
Mose. 

"  Dunno,  miss,"  she  said.  "  Dat  boy  he 
like  a  flea!  Smartest  boy  eber  yo'  seed;  he 
read  de  spellin'-book  an'  de  Bible  clean  fro! 
Da  he  is  now!  Hello,  yo'  Mose,  yo',  yere's 
de  lady  dat  yo'  done  talked  'bout  all  day, 
come  ter  see  yo'.  Step  libely  now,  an'  mind 
yo'  manners! " 

Through  the  woods  came  Mose,  whistling 
shrilly,  but  at  sight  of  Alice  he  stopped 
short  and  the  broad  smile  of  delight  which 
overspread  his  face  more  than  repaid  her 
for  her  visit. 

For  a  few  moments  she  attempted  to  talk 
72 


OTHELLO,    JR. 

with  mother  and  son,  but  Mrs.  Jenkins  led 
the  conversation,  a  baby  fell  out  of  its  soap- 
box, and  had  to  be  soothed  and  played  with, 
so  Alice  finally  proposed  that  Mose  walk 
home  with  her,  seeing  that  in  no  other  way 
could  she  become  acquainted  with  the  boy. 
He  assented  to  the  proposition  with  alac- 
rity, and  as  they  strolled  slowly  through 
the  beautiful  wood  road  Alice  found  it  an 
easy  matter  to  lead  him  into  talking  of  him- 
self. He  was  older  than  he  seemed;  in  fact, 
was  almost  fourteen,  and  for  three  years 
had  been  to  the  district  school,  but  had  been 
taken  out  to  help  at  home  when  his  mother 
had  the  chills  and  fever.  After  that  it  was 
felt  that  his  education  was  complete,  and 
when  he  begged  to  go  back  to  school,  a  few 
severe  "  wallopings,"  as  he  called  them,  had 
reduced  him  to  obedience.  With  a  sparkle 
of  real  delight  in  his  eyes,  he  told  how  he 
had  mastered  fractions,  could  spell  words  of 
three  syllables,  and  had  read  just  enough 
history  to  make  him  hunger  for  more. 

"  It's  mighty  fine  w'en  dose  ole  kings  an' 
73 


OTHELLO,    JR. 

stuck-up  wite  folks  gets  callin'  names  an' 
cuttin'  off  haids,  ain't  it,  missy? "  he  said 
with  enthusiasm,  adding  eagerly :  "  Mebbe 
I'se  gwine  ter  fine  out  mo'  'bout  dem  some 
day;  I  reckon  dis  yere  club's  gwine  ter  make 
me  right  pert.  You'se  got  heap  o'  learnin'!  " 

When  it  was  discovered  where  Alice  had 
been  she  was  teased  unmercifully  about  her 
protege,  but  she  paid  no  attention  to  the 
jokes  made  at  her  expense,  and  went  calmly 
on,  laying  her  plans  to  help  Mose  in  his 
eager  pursuit  of  knowledge. 

Meanwhile  the  committee  had  been  hard 
at  work  making  their  program  for  the  festi- 
val. Then  came  the  difficult  task  of  assign- 
ing parts.  Each  member  scorned  the  one 
offered  to  him  or  her,  preferring  another 
that  every  one  else  was  sure  some  other  per- 
son would  take  much  better.  It  really 
seemed  as  if  the  matter  would  never  be 
peacefully  settled,  but  finally  Hal  came  to 
the  rescue,  with  his  ready  tact,  adjusted  the 
differences,  and  calmed  the  excited  dispu- 
tants. For  the  next  four  weeks  nothing  but 

74 


OTHELLO,    JR. 

costumes  and  stage  matters  were  talked 
about  or  thought  of,  and  at  all  hours  of  the 
day  distracted  actors  were  to  be  met  mur- 
muring their  lines  or  reciting  to  one  an- 
other for  criticism. 

It  was,  of  course,  a  matter  of  necessity  to 
consult  mothers,  for  there  was  much  finery 
to  be  planned  and  made  up.  Mr.  Griffith 
was  also  admitted  into  the  secret  counsel  as 
chief  adviser.  He  was  by  profession  an 
artist,  and  it  had  been  on  account  of  his  fail- 
ing health  that  the  family  had  moved  from 
their  city  home  to  the  farm  just  outside  the 
well-known  resort  of  Farwell.  In  this  quiet, 
picturesque  spot  he  had  found  the  rest  and 
change  that  he  needed,  but  he  was  not  yet 
working  hard  again,  so  he  had  plenty  of  time 
to  help  the  children  with  his  clever  ideas 
and  nimble  fingers,  and  being  at  heart  as 
much  of  a  boy  as  his  sons,  entered  deeply 
into  the  spirit  of  the  affair.  Mrs.  Griffith 
suggested  that  they  ask  an  admission  fee 
and  give  the  proceeds  to  charity,  which  sug- 
gestion they  liked  immensely,  but  could  not 

75 


OTHELLO,    JR. 

come  to  any  decision  as  to  an  object.  They 
had  all  assisted  very  recently  at  a  Fresh- Air- 
Fund  Fair,  and  there  seemed  to  be  no  other 
charity  on  which  they  could  agree.  So  at 
last  they  decided  to  ask  twenty-five  cents  a 
ticket,  and  simply  state  that  it  was  to  be 
used  for  the  charity  fund  of  the  club. 

Mose  proved  himself  a  perfect  treasure. 
He  did  the  odd  jobs  and  errands  of  the  club, 
sold  tickets,  and  hammered  and  painted  to 
his  heart's  content,  becoming  very  proud  of 
the  frequent  calls:  "Where  is  Mose?  Mose, 
come  here!  Where  is  that  boy?" 

Besides  doing  so  many  chores,  he  man- 
aged to  have  time  for  all  of  the  rehearsals, 
which  were  his  delight.  Hamlet  and  Othello 
were  his  favorite  plays,  and  he  became  so 
familiar  with  their  scenes  and  situations 
that  he  frequently  retired  to  the  woods  and 
rehearsed  them  for  the  benefit  of  a  large  au- 
dience of  birds  and  squirrels.  He  asked 
Alice  so  many  impossible  questions  about 
the  past  and  future  of  the  characters  that 
in  self-defense  she  gave  him  an  old  volume 

76 


OTHELLO,    JR. 

of  the  plays.  This  he  pored  over  at  home 
until  his  father  threatened  him  with  having 
to  drop  his  new  comrades  entirely,  after 
which  he  was  careful  to  read  only  when  the 
babies  were  asleep  and  the  wood-pile  was 
full. 

Scenes  from  six  plays  were  to  be  given, 
and  as  the  number  of  actors  was  so  small 
compared  to  the  number  of  parts  to  be  taken, 
each  person  was  obliged  to  appear  in  a  va- 
riety of  roles,  and  the  actors  found  it  ex- 
tremely difficult  to  remember  which  words 
went  with  which  play. 

The  dress  rehearsal  went  badly,  very 
badly  indeed.  Antony  had  to  be  prompted 
continually,  Romeo  and  Juliet  disputed  so 
violently  over  expressions  and  gestures  that 
Mr.  Griffith  had  to  step  in  to  settle  the 
combat,  and  worst  of  all,  Walter  Griffith, 
otherwise  Othello,  had  such  a  sore  throat 
that  he  could  not  appear  at  all,  so  the  pros- 
pect for  the  next  day  was  anything  but 
cheering. 

"  Oh,  dear!  "  groaned  Hal.  "  Whatever 
77 


OTHELLO,    JR. 

shall  we  do?  It  is  going  to  go  all  wrong.  I 
know  it,  and  no  one  will  come! " 

"  And  it  looks  as  if  it  were  going  to  rain 
in  torrents,"  added  Eliot  dolefully.  Mary 
drew  her  face  down  in  imitation  of  Hal's 
pathetic  expression,  as  she  answered  mock- 
ingly: 

"  Yes,  it's  going  to  pour  and  nobody  will 
come  and  we'll  all  sit  down  and  cry  over  it! 
You  old  croakers,  you,  couldn't  you  be  a 
trifle  less  encouraging?  If  it  does  rain " 

"  Which  it  isn't  going  to,"  interrupted 
Mabel,  and  Mary  added  pleadingly :  "  Come, 
boys,  do  smile  just  once,  to  show  that  you 
haven't  forgotten  how." 

"  We  have  sold  a  hundred  tickets,  and 
those  people  will  be  sure  to  come,"  said 
Estelle  sagely.  "  It  is  going  to  be  a  grand 
success — I  feel  it  in  my  bones!  " 

"  Good  luck  to  your  bones,"  said  Eliot, 
smiling  in  spite  of  himself.  Then  he  and 
Hal  went  off,  looking  a  little  less  mournful. 

The  next  morning  they  were  up  and  hard 
at  work  so  early  that  they  could  not  tell 

78 


OTHELLO,    JR. 

whether  the  day  was  going  to  be  pleasant 
or  not,  but  the  sun  soon  decided  the  ques- 
tion by  coming  out  red  and  full,  the  clouds 
disappeared,  and  every  one  began  to  feel  en- 
couraged and  in  a  good  humor.  Walter 
worked  bravely  until  after  breakfast,  when 
he  suddenly  disappeared  and  was  found  ha- 
stily retiring,  announcing  that  "  if  all  the 
plays  in  the  world  went  to  smash,  he  couldn't 
sit  up  another  minute,"  which  statement, 
made  by  plucky  Walter,  showed  that  he 
must  feel  pretty  sick.  Consternation  was 
visible  on  every  face,  as  the  troupe  hurried 
off  to  the  barn  to  talk  it  over. 

"Well,"  said  Hal,  after  a  half-hour  of 
fruitless  discussion,  "  there  really  isn't  any- 
thing to  do  but  to  leave  the  whole  scene  out. 
It  is  hardest  for  Walter,  poor  chap!  Come 
on,  we  had  better  begin  to  get  ready  for  the 
other  acts.  It  is  almost  noon  now." 

Just  as  they  were  filing  sadly  off  Mose 
appeared.  He  had  been  to  the  woods,  and 
his  arms  were  filled  with  boughs  and  clem- 
atis vines  to  decorate  the  stage. 

79 


OTHELLO,    JR. 

"  I  say,  Mose,  what  do  you  think?  " 

Hal's  voice  was  so  doleful  that  Mose 
stared  at  him. 

"  Othello  is  sick  in  bed;  it's  a  light  case 
of  tonsillitis,  mother  says,  and  we  can't 
have  his  act  at  all.  How  is  that  for  hard 
luck?" 

Dropping  his  burden,  Mose  put  his  hands 
in  his  pockets  and  exclaimed  sympathet- 
ically, "  Sho'  nuff,  massa!"  Then,  quick  as 
a  flash,  he  turned  a  somersault,  bounded 
over  to  Alice,  and  fairly  pulled  her  toward 
the  house. 

"  Come  quick,  missy,"  he  said  pleadingly. 
"  I'se  gwine  tell  yo'  somefln.  Come,  missy, 
come!"  And  Alice  allowed  herself  to  be 
led  to  the  house,  where  she  listened  to  the 
tale  that  he  poured  out  in  an  eager  torrent 
of  words,  while  the  others  went  back  to 
work. 

When  he  finished  Alice's  eyes  were 
bright  with  excitement,  and  she  brought  her 
mother,  whose  patient  was  now  asleep,  to 
join  the  consultation.  Mrs.  Griffith,  after 

80 


OTHELLO,    JR. 

asking  a  few  questions,  seemed  as  pleased 
and  eager  as  Alice. 

"Good!"  she  said.  "Capital!  It  will 
give  the  audience  a  hearty  laugh." 

She  had  scarcely  finished  the  sentence  be- 
fore the  excited  couple  were  out  on  the  lawn 
again,  talking  hard  and  fast  to  the  group 
gathered  around  them. 

From  that  moment  the  drooping  spirits 
of  the  company  revived.  Mose  flew  here  and 
there  with  the  rapidity  of  a  top,  Mrs.  Griffith 
hastily  made  changes  in  a  many-colored  cos- 
tume, and  then  came  the  last  flurry  of  prep- 
aration. 

In  the  grove  a  wide  curtain  had  been 
stretched  before  the  stage  from  one  tree  to 
another;  from  the  left,  side  curtains  made 
an  exit  into  the  woods  behind,  while  to  the 
right,  by  means  of  hangings,  a  covered  way 
had  been  made  to  the  barn  dressing-rooms. 

Almost  all  of  the  seats  were  filled,  when 

the  sound  of  a  horn  was  heard  and  a  drag 

came  in  sight,  filled  with  a  gay  crowd  of 

strangers  from  Farwell.     They  laughed  and 

81 


OTHELLO,    JR. 

jested  as  they  dismounted,  and  evidently 
considered  the  whole  affair  a  huge  joke. 
Behind  the  drag  came  a  succession  of  small 
vehicles  from  which  so  many  people  alighted 
that  Hal,  who  was  looking  through  a  crack 
in  the  barn  door,  grew  cold  with  fright. 

"Where  can  they  all  sit?"  said  Mrs. 
Griffith  nervously,  but  her  husband  reas- 
sured her.  "  There  are  plenty  of  rugs  when 
seats  give  out,"  he  said,  adding:  "  Come  now, 
my  actors,  do  your  prettiest  for  the  honor 
of  Shakespeare! " 

First  on  the  program  came  a  scene  from 
Julius  Caesar,  and  when  the  curtain  rose, 
disclosing  a  painted  thoroughfare  with  the 
Eoman  forum  in  the  distance  and  in  the 
foreground  the  murmuring  crowd  of  Roman 
citizens,  there  was  a  burst  of  applause, 
which  so  encouraged  the  actors  that  they 
started  off  with  flying  colors. 

The  majestic  speech  made  by  Eliot  as 
Brutus  when  the  body  of  Caesar  is  borne  on 
the  stage  was  well  received,  and  when  Hal 
as  Marc  Antony  ended  his  famous  harangue, 

82 


OTHELLO,    JR. 

"  Friends,  Romans,  countrymen,  lend  me 
your  ears,"  the  clapping  was  loud  and  con- 
tinuous, while  the  hot  and  breathless  gentle- 
men in  togas  departed  to  the  barn  to  receive 
congratulations  while  they  helped  set  the 
next  scene. 

In  it  Estelle  made  an  irresistible  Juliet, 
her  gown  of  clinging  white  mull  showing 
her  plump  arms  and  neck,  and  with  her  hair 
floating  like  soft  clouds  about  her,  as  she 
leaned  from  her  balcony,  at  times  almost 
upsetting  the  step-ladder  on  which  she 
was  perched.  Ralph  as  Romeo  wooed  her 
with  firmness  and  persistency,  and  Juliet 
grew  tenderer  and  sweeter,  holding  her 
audience  quite  spellbound  until  the  cur- 
tain fell. 

Next  came  a  scene  from  Henry  VIII  with 
Alice  as  Queen  Katharine;  then  the  Myers 
appeared  as  Pyramus  and  Thisbe.  This 
was  their  great  act  which  made  the  hearers 
weep  with  amusement  and  applaud  so  vig- 
orously that  the  actors  wanted  to  give  it 
again,  but  Mr.  Griffith  was  firm.  "  Better 
83 


OTHELLO,    JR. 

give  them  too  little  than  too  much,"  he 
said. 

So  the  castle  interior  was  put  up  once 
more,  while  Eliot  hastily  transformed  him- 
self into  Hamlet.  This  was  a  part  which  he 
was  passionately  fond  of  acting,  and  his  only 
regret  was  that  there  was  time  to  give  but 
the  one  short  scene.  Mary,  however,  as 
Ophelia,  was  so  badly  frightened  that  she 
was  only  too  thankful  when  it  was  over  and 
the  applause  told  her  that  she  had  not 
spoiled  the  effect  by  her  mistakes,  as  she 
had  feared. 

Following  this  scene  came  a  brief  inter- 
mission, during  which  the  actors  clustered 
around  Mrs.  Griffith,  who  was  busily  trans- 
forming Moses  Jenkins,  Esq.,  into  Othello, 
the  Moor  of  Venice,  by  means  of  gay  dra- 
peries and  an  impressive  head-dress,  Mose 
assuming  such  an  air  of  lofty  and  solemn 
importance,  that  he  seemed  to  grow  taller 
by  the  minute.  The  effect  of  the  vivid  dra- 
peries was  to  throw  into  sharp  relief  the  lit- 
tle black  face,  and  the  small  Moor  under  the 

84 


OTHELLO,    JR. 

combined  weight  of  his  very  heavy  head- 
dress and  his  great  dignity  was  a  comical 
sight  to  behold. 

"  Isn't  he  the  cutest,  blackest  thing? " 
exclaimed  Alice  rapturously,  as  she  joined 
the  group,  in  her  Desdemona  costume,  while 
Mrs.  Griffith  said  hurriedly  to  Mose,  "  If  you 
forget,  just  look  at  me  and  I  will  prompt 
you." 

But  Mose  turned  to  her  with  a  glance 
of  withering  scorn.  "Sho!"  was  all  he 
said,  but  the  monosyllable  was  most  ex- 
pressive. 

One  moment  more  and  the  curtain  rose, 
disclosing  the  Venetian  council  room  with 
Ralph  in  duke's  costume  and  Eliot  as  a  sen- 
ator seated  by  the  table,  while  Hal  as  Bra- 
bantio  stood,  Othello  beside  him.  The 
scene  was  very  picturesque,  as  Mr.  Griffith 
had  taken  great  pains  with  the  coloring,  and 
the  audience  were  so  absorbed  in  noting  the 
general  effect  that  not  until  Othello  stepped 
forward  to  confront  his  accusers  did  they 
appreciate  the  humor  of  the  situation.  With 

85 


OTHELLO,    JR. 

a  stately  bow  of  mingled  defiance  and  meek- 
ness, Othello  began: 

"  Mos'  potent,  grave,  and  reverend  si- 
gniors " 

There  was  a  sudden  spasm  of  surprise 
visible  among  the  colored  portion  of  the  au- 
dience, while  Mrs.  Jenkins  gave  one  wild 
chuckle,  "It's  Mose!  it's  Mose!"  then  con- 
tented herself  with  nodding  to  right  and 
left  like  a  mandarin  and  giving  occasional 
quick  bounces  from  her  seat.  The  other 
spectators  listened  with  flattering  stillness 
while  the  sonorous  sentences  rolled  from  the 
little  black  lips  in  unmistakable  negro  dia- 
lect, but  with  a  force  and  spirit  which 
showed  that  the  boy  was  for  the  time  far 
removed  from  his  own  identity.  He  fairly 
poured  out  his  words  in  the  eloquent 
phrases — mindful  of  rhythm  and  expression 
— to  such  a  degree  that  the  other  actors  ex- 
changed quick  glances  of  joy  and  pride. 

The  other  parts  were  well  taken,  but 
no  one  paid  any  attention  to  them.  Othello 
was  the  hero  of  the  hour.  When  he  stood 

86 


Othello,  Jr. 


OTHELLO,    JR. 

beside  Alice  as  Desdemona,  gazing  at  her 
with  rapturous  devotion,  her  fairness  em- 
phasizing his  blackness,  and  her  musical 
voice  in  sharp  contrast  to  his  thick  one,  the 
audience  were  enchanted  with  the  tableau, 
and  at  the  end  of  his  farewell  speech  there 
were  such  shouts  of  applause  that  to  the 
eager  group  behind  the  scenes  it  seemed  as 
if  Booth  himself  could  not  have  had  a 
greater  ovation. 

Finally,  in  response  to  repeated  calls 
Desdemona  and  Othello  came  before  the  cur- 
tain, Desdemona's  eyes  brilliant  with  ex- 
citement, her  cheeks  like  peonies,  as  she 
made  a  little  speech. 

"  My  friends,"  she  said,  "  we  are  very 
grateful  to  you  for  giving  our  performance 
such  warm  appreciation,  and  we  wish  to  tell 
you  that  the  part  of  Othello  was  to  have 
been  taken  by  Mr.  Walter  Griffith.  When, 
on  account  of  his  illness,  we  had  decided  to 
give  up  the  scene,  Mr.  Moses  Jenkins,  who  is 
the  junior  member  of  our  club,  and  who  had 
been  present  at  our  rehearsals,  kindly  vol- 
7  87 


OTHELLO,    JR. 

unteered  to  take  the  part  at  four  hours'  no- 
tice, and  rendered  it  as  you  have  seen  it, 
with  but  one  hurried  rehearsal." 

Here  the  audience  shouted  and  stamped 
and  applauded  with  all  their  might,  and 
Alice  continued: 

"  Under  the  circumstances  we  feel  sure 
of  your  interest  in  this  member  of  our  club, 
and  also  in  the  decision  to  which  we  have 
just  come,  that,  if  he  continues  to  be  as 
faithful  in  the  future  as  he  has  been  in  the 
past,  and  if  his  desire  for  knowledge  does 
not  grow  any  less  keen  that  it  is  at  present, 
Othello,  Jr.,  will  in  the  future  represent  our 
club  at  Hampton,  where  his  education  will 
be  the  result  of  our  work  from  year  to  year. 
In  this  way  he  may  have  the  chance  not  only 
of  becoming  an  intelligent  citizen,  but  of 
fitly  justifying  his  title  of  junior  member  of 
the  Seaville  Shakespeare  Society." 

While  Alice  spoke  Othello  had  never  for 
an  instant  ceased  looking  at  her,  but  his  eyes 
grew  larger  and  larger,  and  before  she  had 
ended  her  last  sentence,  he  was  dancing 

88 


OTHELLO,    JR. 

round  and  round  her  like  a  small  whirlwind, 
shouting,  "  Say,  missy,  say!  Is  dat  de  trufe? 
Is  I  gwine  ter  hab  schoolin'  in  a  place  yo'  pa 
done  tole  me  'bout?  Say,  missy,  is  I?  Is— 
I?  Is— I?" 

With  each  word  he  grew  more  wild,  and 
his  mother's  pride  rebelled  against  such 
antics  in  public.  Rising,  she  stamped  her 
foot  and  waved  her  hand  imperiously. 

"  Shet  up,  yo'  Mose,  yo',"  she  commanded. 
"  Min'  yo'  manners  or  yo'll  git  walloped." 

The  maternal  voice  brought  Mose  down 
to  the  real  facts  of  life  with  a  cruel  jerk,  and 
he  became  conscious  that  there  were  people 
watching  him.  He  slunk  behind  Alice  in  a 
crestfallen  manner,  and  would  have  darted 
off  the  stage,  if  she  had  not  held  him  there 
until  the  applause  stopped  and  the  smiling 
audience  began  to  rise.  Then  as  he  and 
Alice  walked  back  to  the  barn,  he  grasped 
her  hand  tightly  with  a  solemn  little  smile. 
"  I'se  mighty  glad!"  he  said,  and  she  knew 
that  he  meant  it. 

That  evening  as  they  all  sat  together  on 
89 


OTHELLO,    JR. 

the  piazza,  they  were  a  very  tired  and  sub- 
dued party,  with  the  one  exception  of  Mose, 
whose  spirits  were  apparently  inexhausti- 
ble. He  whistled,  he  sang,  he  danced,  he 
stood  on  his  head  until  he  was  forced  to  sit 
down  for  a  moment  to  catch  his  breath. 

"Fifty  dollars— only  think  of  it!  It 
seems  too  good  to  be  true!  It  certainly  was 
a  great,  glorious,  smashing  success!"  Hal 
was  saying. 

"  It  certainly  was,"  answered  Eliot  hap- 
pily, "and  such  jolly  fun,  too!  The  only 
thing  I  am  afraid  of  is,  that  some  of  our  mis- 
takes would  have  made  Shakespeare  turn  in 
his  grave  if  he  had  heard  them." 

"  Well,"  said  Mary,  with  her  usual  happy 
philosophy,  "we  surely  did  the  best  we 
knew  how,  and  that's  all  any  one  can  do! " 

For  a  moment  there  was  no  sound  except 
the  whirr  of  the  crickets  and  distant  tree- 
toads;  then  every  one  smiled,  as  the  still- 
ness of  the  summer  evening  was  broken  by 
a  heavy  snore. 

Mose,  worn  out  at  last  with  the  excite- 
90 


OTHELLO,    JR. 

ment  of  the  great  day,  had  fallen  asleep,  as 
quickly  as  he  did  everything,  with  his  head 
pillowed  on  the  corner  of  Alice's  dress. 

Gently  she  laid  her  hand  on  his  woolly 
head,  and  turning,  he  murmured  in  his  sleep: 

"  Mos'  potent,  grave,  and  reverend  si- 
gniors — I'se  mighty  glad!" 


91 


JAMES   BARKERDING,   KNIGHT 


JAMES   BARKEKDING,   KNIGHT 


QUEEN  BARKERDING  was  only  a  little 
girl,  with  the  brightest  of  snapping  black 
eyes  and  the  curliest  of  black  hair.  She  had 
a  round,  merry  face,  although  she  never  felt 
the  fresh  air  on  it  as  other  girls  do,  except 
when  her  brothers  made  a  chair  of  their 
arms  and  carried  her  to  the  window  or 
out  on  the  fire-escape  platform,  but  this 
was  not  often,  for  it  hurt  her  back  so 
badly. 

Her  real  name  was  Emma  Christine,  but 
she  had  been  called  Queen  for  so  long  that 
every  one  but  her  mother  had  forgotten  that 
she  had  another  name. 

It  had  come  about  in  this  way.     One  day, 

when  she  and  several  of  the  other  girls  were 

tired  of  all  their  old  games  and  were  trying 

to  think  of  a  new  one,  an  idea  came  to 

95 


JAMES    BARKERDING,    KNIGHT 

Emma  Christine.  Clapping  her  hands,  she 
cried : 

"I  know,  I  know!  Le's  play  I'm  Queen, 
an'  you  be  grand  ladies,  an'  do  'xactly  what  I 
say! " 

"  An'  play  have  lots  of  lovely  clothes,  an' 
parties,  an'  make  bows  to  you,  an'  say,  '  All 
hail,  our  Queen!'  '  added  one  of  the  girls 
who  had  been  reading  history. 

"  An'  we'll  get  gold  paper  for  a  crown, 
an'  sing  when  we  put  it  on,  an'  do  things 
like  they  do  in  books,"  said  another. 

"My,  won't  it  be  fun!"  cried  Emma 
Christine,  greatly  excited.  "  That's  why  I 
never  get  up  and  go  out  like  you  do,  'cause, 
of  course,  a  queen  wouldn't  be  so  silly. 
She'd  just  sit  still  and  be  bowed  at." 

"Of  course,"  assented  the  girls;  and 
from  that  small  beginning  of  a  game  came 
the  imaginary  life  with  which  Emma  Chris- 
tine and  her  playmates  from  that  time  sur- 
rounded themselves.  The  game  soon  be- 
came a  second  life  to  them,  and  the  queen  a 
real  crowned  person,  who  knew  her  power 

96 


JAMES    BARKERDING,    KNIGHT 

and  ruled  them  all,  narrowly  escaping  being 
spoiled  by  the  loyal  obedience  of  her  sub- 
jects. 

The  boys  entered  eagerly  into  the  new 
game,  and  did  everything  that  the  queen 
commanded;  for,  crowned  or  uncrowned,  she 
was  a  great  favorite,  which  made  it  much 
easier  for  them  to  take  the  vow  of  obedi- 
ence, which  was  the  one  rule  of  the  game. 

From  an  old  book  the  girls  learned  to 
call  themselves  ladies  in  waiting,  and  the 
boys  became  knights,  adding  Sir  to  their 
names;  and  in  their  search  for  manners  and 
customs  to  make  the  game  more  perfect 
they  learned,  too,  that  as  knights  and  ladies 
they  were  the  court  of  the  Queen.  So  the 
game  grew. 

It  is  a  fine  thing  to  be  a  queen — much 
nicer,  of  course,  than  to  be  just  ordinary 
every-day  persons,  even  though  you  can  not 
have  quite  as  much  liberty  as  they;  and  I 
am  sure  you  will  agree  with  me  that  Queen 
Barkerding  was  very  fortunate,  though  her 
kingdom  was  only  a  ten-by-twelve  room  on 
97 


JAMES    BARKERDING,    KNIGHT 

the  fourth  floor  of  a  Second  Avenue  tene- 
ment-house, her  subjects  were  only  her  fam- 
ily and  friends,  and,  while  the  ladies  and 
knights  all  went  to  school  and  played  out 
of  doors,  she  was  obliged  to  lie  still. 

Born  in  a  small  country  town,  Queen's 
first  memories  were  of  green  grass  and  trees 
and  sweet-smelling  flowers,  of  smiles  on  her 
mother's  face,  and  of  merry  frolics  with  her 
big-boy  father.  Then  came  the  time  when 
the  father's  voice  was  stilled  and  the  mother 
neither  sang  nor  smiled;  and  it  was  after 
this  that  they  moved  to  New  York,  to  the 
rooms  on  Second  Avenue,  that  the  mother 
might  more  easily  find  work  by  which  to 
support  her  delicate  little  girl  and  the  boys. 
Every  day  she  went  early  to  her  place  in  the 
paper-flower  store;  and  if  the  tenement  had 
not  been  filled  with  respectable  Germans, 
whose  children  she  was  not  afraid  to  have 
Queen  play  with,  the  little  lady  might  have 
been  very  lonesome  in  the  long  hours;  for 
Jim  and  Fred,  besides  going  to  school,  both 
sold  papers,  as  did  most  of  the  knights.  But 

98 


JAMES    BARKERDING,    KNIGHT 

as  it  was,  Queen  was  always  surrounded  by 
some  of  her  court,  the  ladies  taking  turns  in 
tidying  up  her  kingdom  and  staying  with 
her. 

To  the  ladies  she  was  adviser,  comforter, 
and  friend;  to  the  knights  she  was  con- 
science and  manners  as  well  as  Queen,  and 
many  a  knotty  question  in  morals  they 
brought  to  her  to  unravel,  while  in  return 
she  made  them  teach  her  reading,  writing, 
and  arithmetic  as  they  learned  them  in 
school. 

She  was  a  merry  little  majesty,  as  happy 
as  the  strongest  of  her  subjects,  and  this 
was  probably  one  of  the  secrets  of  her 
power.  In  all  of  her  short  life  she  had  never 
been  able  to  do  as  other  children  did,  and  it 
never  entered  her  head  to  fret  because  she 
was  unlike  them.  It  was  simply  a  matter 
of  course  that  her  back  was  not  quite 
straight;  why,  she  did  not  try  to  discover. 
It  was  to  her  a  beautiful  thing  that  she 
should  be  a  queen,  with  so  many  loving  sub- 
jects; and,  shut  in  as  she  was  from  outer  life 

99 


JAMES    BARKERDING,    KNIGHT 

and  scenes,  she  lived  mainly  in  a  dream- 
world peopled  with  gorgeously  dressed  royal 
persons  whom  she  ruled.  To  be  sure,  the 
real  ones  were  not  elegantly  dressed  at  all; 
indeed,  some  of  them  wore  very  much 
patched  cast-off  clothes;  but  that  was  where 
the  magic  of  the  game  came  in — it  changed 
tinsel  into  gold,  and  patches  into  velvet  and 
ermine. 

It  was  the  1st  of  March,  and  a  great 
event  was  near — the  Queen's  birthday;  and 
the  court  was  in  a  wild  excitement.  There 
was  an  air  of  secrecy  about,  which  made 
Queen's  black  eyes  snap  with  anger,  for  the 
knights  refused  to  pay  any  attention  to  her 
anxious  questions,  and  the  ladies  spent  their 
time  either  whispering  with  heads  together 
in  the  corner  or  in  exchanging  glances  and 
signs  which  she  did  not  understand. 

"  It's  some  mean  old  trick  you're  goin'  to 
play  on  me,  I  know,"  she  said  indignantly, 
one  day  when  the  whole  court  were  together 
in  her  kingdom.  "  You  can't  fool  me!  Some 
day  you'll  be  very,  very  sorry,  'cause  if  you 
100 


JAMES    BARKERDING,    KNIGHT 

don't  look  out  I'll  'spell  you  all  from  court, 
an'  you  can't  ever  come  back  again.  Serve 
you  right,  too!" 

Jim  and  Emil  Bruger  exchanged  looks  of 
alarm,  for  they  were  both  of  them  barome- 
ters, going  up  or  down  as  Queen  smiled  or 
frowned,  and  just  then  she  looked  like  a 
small  hurricane.  But  one  of  the  other 
knights,  Fritz  Arme,  called  out: 

"  Hi  yi !  Queenie's  mad ! 

An'  I'm  glad ! 
An'  I  know  what'll  please  her — " 

"What?"  interrupted  Queen,  frowning. 
"  If  you  know,  why  don't  you  do  it?  " 

Fritz  made  no  answer,  but  nudged  Jim, 
and  whispered  in  his  ear: 

"  Make  her  just  boilin'  mad.  The  madder 
she  gets,  the  more  s'prised  she'll  be." 

The  whole  court  took  up  this  idea,  and 
the  poor  Queen's  dignity  was  sorely  tried  for 
a  time,  but  meanwhile  preparations  for  the 
surprise  were  coming  on  finely.  It  was  to 
be  a  birthday  party  which  would  be  daz- 
zlingly  elegant,  and  it  was  very  hard  to  keep 
101 


JAMES    BARKERDING,    KNIGHT 

it  from  Queen,  for  her  ears  were  keen  and 
her  eyes  were  all-seeing;  but  she  did  not  sus- 
pect a  thing  until  the  day  when  Jim  came  up 
alone,  sat  down  on  the  end  of  her  bed,  and 
said,  trying  to  look  indifferent: 

"  I  say,  Queen,  s'posin'  we'd  have  a  bully 
big  spread,  like  a  real  court,  you  know,  and 
all  dress  up  swell,  what'd  you  choose  to  eat? 
Just  s'posin'  we  might  get  rich,  you  know— 
I  don't  mean  we're  ever  goin'  to — but  if  we 
did " 

Jim's  face  looked  like  a  red-cheeked 
apple  when  he  got  through,  for  he  feared 
that  he  had  clumsily  betrayed  the  secret. 

Queen  looked  at  him  from  under  her  long 
lashes,  then  shut  her  eyes  with  a  sigh. 
"Wouldn't  it  be  lovely?"  she  said.  "I'd 
have  ice-cream,  of  course.  It's  kind  of  queer 
for  a  Queen  never  to  have  ate  any." 

"  'Tain't  much  good,"  said  Jim.  "  Fritz 
had  a  swaller,  an'  he  said  'twasn't  only  snow 
with  colors  on  it.  I'd  enuff  sight  rather  have 
gum  an'  peanuts."  But  Queen  shook  her 
head. 

102 


JAMES    BARKERDING,    KNIGHT 

"  There's  nothing  I  want  like  cream,"  she 
said,  "  an'  it  seems  as  if  it  would  be  awful 
hard  to  wait  till  I  get  to  heaven — I  suppose 
they  have  it  every  day  there." 

Just  then  Fred's  head  was  thrust  in  at 
the  door.  "Come  along,  Jim,"  he  said; 
"you're  wanted." 

From  that  minute  Queen  suspected  what 
was  to  happen,  and  she  scolded  no  more  at 
the  strange  doings  of  her  court,  but  quietly 
lay  and  watched  them,  not  letting  them 
think  that  she  knew,  dreaming  a  new  dream. 

"  It'll  be  cream,  'cause  I  said  so,"  she 
mused.  "  Then  I  needn't  be  'shamed  any 
more  'bout  never  eatin'  it.  Perhaps  it'll  be 
pink  an'  green.  How  can  I  ever  wait?  " 

It  was  the  day  before  the  celebration. 
Everything  was  ready,  and  each  of  the  court 
had  a  very  much  thumbed  list  of  eatables 
promised,  which  they  read  over  and  over,  as 
if  it  might  magically  grow  longer.  Mrs. 
Barkerding,  always  interested  in  the  doings 
of  the  knights  and  ladies,  and  more  than 
usually  so  in  this,  because  it  was  to  please 
3  103 


JAMES    BARKERDING,    KNIGHT 

her  little  girl,  had  promised — magnificent 
promise! — a  quart  of  ice-cream  as  her  part 
of  the  feast;  and  at  the  flower-store  she  had 
begged  a  dozen  sheets  of  colored  tissue- 
paper,  which  were  made  into  flowing  capes 
by  cutting  a  hole  in  the  middle  of  each  for 
a  head  to  be  put  through.  These  clouds 
of  glory  were  carefully  wrapped  in  a  news- 
paper and  put  under  the  mattress  of  Jim's 
cot,  while  the  crown  and  cape,  made  out  of 
new  gold  paper,  for  the  Queen,  were  hidden 
in  one  of  the  ladies'  rooms.  This  is  the  way 
the  list  of  the  presents  read: 

Mrs.  B.,  Ice  creem. 

Sir  Jim,  Peenuts — one  doz.  gum. 

Sir  Fred,  One  candel.     Bottel  to  put  it  in. 

Sir  Emil,  A  10  cent  cake  and  candel. 

Sir  Fritz,  1  doz.  jaw-breakers. 

Sir  Harry,  6  pop  corn  balls. 

Sir  Ned,  Ginger  cakes. 

Ladies,  Sticks  peppermint — 2  lemons, 
paper  napkens. 

All  of  us — gold  paper. 

The  ladies  could  not  give  as  largely  as 
104 


JAMES    BARKERDING,    KNIGHT 

the  knights,  because,  not  earning  anything 
themselves,  their  share  of  pocket-money  was 
smaller;  but  they  had  given  their  time,  and 
made  all  of  the  capes  and  the  crown,  and 
felt  that  they  had  done  their  share. 

"  When  we  get  all  that  together,  and  the 
cream  too,  nobody  could  want  nothin'  bet- 
ter, 'cept  they  asked  for  the  earth,"  Jim  said 
rapturously  when  they  read  the  list  at  their 
last  meeting  in  Emil's  room  and  compared 
it  with  the  dainties  spread  out  on  the  bed. 

"  Guess  she'll  most  die  when  she  sees  the 
cream,"  he  added,  as  they  carefully  put  the 
feast  away  again,  and  separated  with  a  few 
last  words  and  plans. 

As  Jim  stood  out  in  the  hall  a  moment, 
thinking  of  the  next  day's  joy,  his  mother's 
voice  beside  him  made  him  look  up. 

"  Jim,"  she  said,  "  I've  bad  news  for  you." 

Jim  stuck  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and 
never  moved  his  eyes  from  her  face. 

"  Go  ahead,"  he  said. 

"  The  rent  must  be  paid  to-morrow,"  she 
said,  "  but  that  would  have  been  all  right  if 
105 


JAMES    BARKERDING,    KNIGHT 

they  hadn't  cut  me  down  this  month  on 
wages.  We  only  knew  about  it  to-day,  but 
work  is  so  slack  that  they  had  to  do  it,  they 
say.  Anyway,  it  will  be  all  I  can  do,  with 
your  paper  money  to  help,  to  pay  for  Queen's 
medicines  and  meet  the  rent,  without  giving 
you  the  ice-cream." 

Jim's  face  fell  and  he  gave  a  gasp. 

"  Be  brave,  dear,"  she  added.  "  There'll 
be  only  ourselves  disappointed,  for  Queen 
doesn't  know  anything  about  it.  It  makes 
me  feel  worse  than  it  does  you." 

And  Mrs.  Barkerding  went  on  up-stairs 
quickly,  to  hide  the  moisture  in  her  eyes  and 
the  tremble  in  her  voice,  for  to  surround  her 
little  Queen  with  comforts  and  luxuries  was 
her  greatest  longing,  and  an  almost  bitter 
feeling  was  tugging  at  her  heart-strings  to 
know  that  she  could  not  given  her  even  this 
smallest  pleasure. 

Jim,  meanwhile,  below,  gave  way  to  un- 
controllable anger.  He  was  a  fiery  little 
fellow,  anyway — very  impulsive;  and  now 
he  was  too  disappointed  to  endure  it.  He 
106 


JAMES    BARKERDING,    KNIGHT 

went  out  and  kicked  the  foundation  of  the 
house  until  he  was  dizzy,  gave  a  small  boy 
who  asked  him  an  innocent  question  a  cuff 
on  the  head,  and  finally  strode  off  in  a  white 
heat  of  rage — not  against  his  mother,  but 
against  the  whole  world. 

"  'Twon't  be  a  party — 'twon't  be  no  fun— 
'twon't  be  nothin'  'thout  that;  an'  Queen'll 
think  it's  comin'  'cause  I  asked  her  'bout  it. 
I  ain't  a-goin'.  Wisht  I  hadn't  been  such  a 
donkey.  Wisht  I  had  all  the  money  that 
feller  has " — as  he  passed  a  well-dressed 
boy,  and  scowled  at  him  under  his  hat-brim. 
Then  he  tried  to  count  up  how  much  it  would 
cost  to  buy  the  cream  himself.  It  would  not 
be  possible.  His  long-cherished  quarter  had 
been  spent  for  the  peanuts  and  gum  and  for 
his  share  of  the  gold  paper,  and  not  another 
cent  would  he  have  to  spend,  even  with  sell- 
ing the  next  day's  papers;  for,  as  the  man  of 
the  family  (he  was  eleven  years  old),  he  al- 
ways turned  in  what  he  earned  to  help  with 
the  rent. 

That  was  a  sad  evening  for  the  court. 
107 


JAMES    BARKERDING,    KNIGHT 

The  bad  news  spread  quickly,  but,  though 
they  talked  and  talked,  they  could  find  no 
way  to  buy  the  longed-for  luxury,  for  they 
had  spent  their  all;  so  they  went  to  bed  with 
the  dreary  feeling  that,  after  all,  the  cele- 
bration would  be  almost  spoiled. 

Poor  Jim!  he  burned  with  red-hot  rebel- 
lion to  think  that  his  sister — the  Queen,  his 
idol — could  not  have  the  grand  surprise.  In 
school  the  next  day  he  missed  all  of  his  les- 
sons, and  was  so  inattentive  that  his  teacher 
asked  if  he  were  sick.  Jim  shook  his  head 
and  tried  to  study,  but  all  the  letters  on  the 
pages  were  jumbled  together,  and  he  could 
not  make  himself  think.  As  soon  as  school 
was  out  he  started  off  in  the  opposite  di- 
rection from  home,  with  no  particular  rea- 
son except  to  get  as  far  away  as  possible 
from  the  celebration.  He  sauntered  along, 
and  then  it  occurred  to  him  to  look  for  a  job, 
but  he  could  find  no  excuse  for  one.  There 
was  no  snow  to  shovel,  no  horse  to  hold;  all 
the  stores  were  full  of  busy  clerks — "  an' 
everybody  rich  'cept  me!"  he  murmured. 
108 


JAMES    BARKERDING,    KNIGHT 

For  a  short  time  he  sat  in  Stuyvesant 
Square  watching  the  children;  but  that 
troubled  him,  for  they  all  seemed  so  happy. 
He  saw  by  the  sky  that  it  was  growing  late, 
and  that  it  was  time  for  him  to  go  for  his 
stock  of  evening  papers;  so  off  he  trudged 
down  to  his  usual  stand  for  them,  and  then 
went  over  to  the  Madison  Avenue  cars,  his 
regular  business  district;  but  his  sales  were 
not  as  brisk  as  usual — he  did  not  seem  to 
shove  the  other  boys  aside  as  forcefully,  nor 
call  out  as  loud  as  they  did. 

Getting  out  of  a  car,  he  went  down  a  side 
street  to  follow  up  a  possible  customer,  and 
as  he  walked  past  the  side  fence  inclosing 
the  garden  of  a  large  Madison  Avenue  house, 
he  stopped  a  minute  to  peer  through  the 
iron  pickets  of  the  gate.  While  he  stood 
there  a  cart  drew  up,  and  the  man,  with  a 
"Hi,  there,  kid,  clear  the  road!"  jumped 
down  and  passed  through  the  gate,  carrying 
what  made  Jim's  eyes  grow  large,  his  mouth 
water,  and  his  fingers  ache  to  clutch — a  pail 
of  ice-cream.  It  was  too  much  for  flesh  and 
109 


JAMES    BARKERDING,    KNIGHT 

blood  to  stand.  Those  people  didn't  need  it; 
they  probably  had  it  every  day.  There  it 
was,  left  on  the  stone,  right  outside  the 
area  door.  There  was  not  a  person  in  sight 
on  the  street,  nor  in  the  house,  so  far  as 
Jim  could  see;  and  no  sooner  had  the  idea 
flashed  into  his  mind  than  he  was  inside 
the  gate,  and  before  he  really  knew  that 
he  had  thought  of  it,  he  found  himself 
running  down  the  avenue,  carrying  the 
pail,  heavy  as  it  was,  and  his  remaining 
papers. 

No  one  noticed  Jim  as  he  hurried  along. 

His  eyes  sparkled,  he  was  flushed  with 
excitement.  Queen  should  have  her  birth- 
day wish.  It  would  all  be  beautiful,  just  as 
they  had  planned.  The  court  would  be  so 
glad,  and  his  mother — well,  at  the  thought 
of  his  mother  came  an  uneasy  feeling.  He 
felt  as  if  she  were  looking  at  him.  Oh,  dear! 
he  wished  he  had  not  thought  of  her,  he  was 
so  dreadfully  uncomfortable.  While  his 
impulse  was  hot  within  him  he  had  not 
thought  at  all — he  had  simply  acted.  He 
110 


JAMES    BARKERDING,    KNIGHT 

was  cool  now,  and  a  voice  was  saying  loudly 
to  Mm,  "Thief!  thief!" 

The  voice  must  have  been  in  his  mind,  for 
there  was  not  a  person  near  him  when  he 
turned  to  look.  He  remembered  once,  when 
he  borrowed  a  marble  from  one  of  the  boys 
and  was  not  going  to  return  it,  how  scorn- 
fully Queen  had  said: 

"  Stealers  can't  be  in  my  court.  Go  give 
it  back! "  And  he  had  given  it  back. 

Perhaps  she  would  refuse  to  eat  the 
cream.  Perhaps  the  court  would  punish 
him.  Dreadful  thought!  He  set  the  pail 
down  on  the  sidewalk  and  tried  to  decide 
what  to  do.  The  street-lamps  were  all 
lighted,  and  whatever  he  did  must  be  done 
quickly. 

"  'Twasn't  stealin' — 'twas  just  takin',"  he 
said  to  himself;  but  louder  and  louder  he 
heard  the  voice  call  "Thief!  thief!"  and  a 
finger  seemed  to  point  at  him;  while  another 
voice  cried  "Coward!"  and  that  voice  was 
Queen's. 

It  was  settled — no  knight  should  be 
111 


JAMES    BARKERDING,    KNIGHT 

worthy  of  the  name  of  coward.  Up-town  he 
turned  again,  hurrying  as  fast  as  his  heavy 
load  would  let  him.  The  longer  he  carried 
the  pail  the  more  ashamed  he  grew,  and 
he  felt  as  if  every  one  knew  that  he  was 
not  a  great  knight,  but  only  a  common 
thief. 

"  If  I  just  put  it  down  in  the  yard  and 
run,  it'll  show  I'm  'fraid,  an'  maybe  they'll 
be  watchin'  and  catch  me,  an'  put  me  in  jail; 
but  if  I  ring  the  bell  an'  tell  the  lady,  I  won't 
be  a  coward." 

Obeying  this  idea,  he  walked  boldly  up 
the  broad  steps  of  the  great  house  and  rang 
the  bell.  The  door  opened,  throwing  a  flood 
of  light  on  Jim,  who  winked  and  blinked, 
and  almost  forgot  what  he  wanted. 

"  What  is  it?  "  asked  the  elegant  gentle- 
man who  opened  the  door. 

Jim  was  sure  he  must  be  a  real  knight, 
and  was  greatly  awed. 

"  Could  I — might  I — I  say,  I  want  to  see 
the  lady!" 

The  grave  gentleman  shook  his  head  and 
112 


JAMES    BARKERDING,    KNIGHT 

half  closed  the  door,  but  catching  sight  of 
the  ice-cream  pail,  opened  it  again. 

"  Is  it  the  ice  you've  got?  Cook  was  for 
'avin'  a  fit  for  fright  that  it  wasn't  here. 
Take  it  down  to  the  arey,  boy.  Don't  you 
know  nothin'?  " 

"  I  know  I'm  a-goin'  to  see  the  lady,"  said 
Jim,  growing  desperate.  "  'Tis  the  cream, 
but  'tain't  only  that — it's  something  else;  an' 
please  say  it's  Sir  James  Barkerding,  the 
Knight,  that's  here." 

Jim  looked  up  to  see  what  impression 
his  title  made  on  the  gentleman,  and  it 
seemed  to  him  that  he  saw  a  smile  pass  over 
the  before  grave  face. 

"  Wait,"  he  said,  closing  the  door;  and 
after  what  seemed  a  very  long  time  to  Jim, 
he  came  back.  There  was  a  twinkle  in  his 
eyes  as  he  announced: 

"  Mrs.  Homer  says  Sir  James  can  come 
in." 

Carefully  removing  his  hat,  and  tak- 
ing up  the  pail,  Jim  followed  his  guide 
through  miles  and  miles  of  long  rooms,  as 
113 


JAMES    BARKERDING,    KNIGHT 

it  seemed  to  him,  and  all  of  a  sudden  they 
came  to  a  room  in  fairy-land,  where  there 
was  a  table  all  set  with  flashing  things 
of  which  Jim  had  never  heard,  and  around 
the  table  were  sitting  such  beautiful  ladies 
and  knights  as  he  had  read  about.  He 
pinched  himself  to  see  if  he  really  were 
alive,  and  then  he  heard  a  laughing  voice 
say: 

"  Well,  Sir  Knight,  what  is  your  fair 
pleasure?  'Tis  not  often  we  entertain  the 
peerage — you  do  us  a  high  honor.  Do  you 
propose  to  share  our  humble  fare?  " 

"  Hush,  Maurice,  he  does  not  understand 
—he  only  knows  you  are  making  fun  of 
him,"  said  one  of  the  ladies,  the  most  beau- 
tiful of  all,  Jim  thought.  She  held  out  her 
hand  to  him,  and  said,  with  a  smile: 

"  Tell  me  your  business  quickly,  my  boy. 
You  see  I  am  busy." 

Every  person  at  the  table  (and  it  seemed 
to  Jim  there  must  have  been  a  hundred,  but 
I  think  his  eyes  magnified)  looked  straight 
at  him. 

114 


JAMES    BARKERDING,    KNIGHT 

The  minute  had  come.  There  was  no 
backing  out  now.  Jim  cleared  his  throat. 

"  I  stole  your  cream  out  of  the  back 
yard,"  he  said.  "  I'm  sorry  I  stole,  an'  I 
ain't  a  coward,  or  I'd  ha'  just  put  it  down  an' 
run.  Here  'tis." 

Not  a  person  spoke.  Jim  turned  to  go, 
jamming  his  hat  under  his  arm.  Anyway, 
it  was  over,  and  nothing  had  been  said  about 
jail. 

You  could  have  heard  a  pin  drop  in  that 
room  for  the  space  of  a  second.  Then  the 
lady  pushed  back  her  chair  and  went  over  to 
Jim's  side,  laying  a  soft  white  hand,  all 
sparkling  with  lights,  on  his  shoulder. 

"  I  do  not  see,"  she  said,  "  how  you  hap- 
pened to  bring  it  back.  Tell  me  about  it, 
and  how  you  came  to  have  your  title." 

Then  Jim  told  by  degrees  the  whole  story 
of  Queen  and  of  her  court,  of  his  mother's 
work,  of  the  celebration,  and  of  the  tempta- 
tion which  came  from  his  disappointment; 
and  when  he  had  finished  he  saw  such 
friendly  looks  in  the  faces  of  all  the  ladies, 
115 


JAMES    BARKERDING,    KNIGHT 

and  the  knights  all  got  up  and  shook  hands 
with  him  so  respectfully  that  he  felt  they 
were  old  friends,  and  that  he  had  always 
lived  in  dreamland.  He  felt  so  more  than 
ever  when  the  pretty  lady  handed  him  the 
pail  of  cream  just  as  he  had  brought  it,  and 
a  basket  full  of  dainty  things  that  she  called 
cakes,  saying  gravely: 

"  Give  these  to  the  Queen,  dear,  and  tell 
her  that  her  brother  is  a  true  knight  and  not 
a  coward.  This  will  be  her  nicest  present." 
Then  following  him  to' the  door,  she  put  her 
beautiful  uncovered  arms  around  his  neck 
just  as  if  she  had  been  his  own  mother,  and 
said: 

"Brave  little  knight — never  do  it  again, 
though!  Tell  Queen  I  will  see  her  to-mor- 
row." And  before  Jim  knew  it  he  was  out 
again  on  the  avenue,  but  feeling — oh,  so  dif- 
ferent! Staggering  with  his  heavy  load, 
he  at  last  reached  home  and  burst  into  the 
room,  breathless,  having  left  his  pail  out- 
side the  door,  just  as  the  last  remnants  of 
the  feast  were  disappearing.  The  Queen 
116 


JAMES    BARKERDING,    KNIGHT 

was  dressed  in  the  glittering  cape  and 
crown,  the  green,  yellow,  pink,  and  blue 
tissue-paper  capes  were  all  fluttering  on  the 
ladies  and  knights,  and  the  table,  set  right 
by  the  throne — Queen's  bed — had  been  gay 
to  look  on,  but  now  the  candles  were  burn- 
ing low  in  their  bottle  holders,  the  lemonade 
was  gone,  and  most  of  the  ornaments  of  the 
table  were  eaten  up.  In  fact,  Jim  had  come 
too  late. 

As  he  ran  in,  his  mother  cried  in  a  re- 
lieved tone :  "  O  Jim,  where  have  you  been— 
how  could  you  worry  me  so?  " 

"  We  waited  till  we  couldn't  wait  any 
longer,"  said  Sir  Emil  severely. 

"  But  you  spoiled  all  the  fun,  anyway," 
said  the  Queen  in  her  most  dignified  voice. 
"  If  I'd  been  you,  I'd  have  waited  till  my 
Queen's  birthday  was  over  to  act  like  that! " 

"  I  say,"  said  Jim,  "  just  hold  on  a  min- 
ute!" And  he  said  it  in  such  a  curiously 
important  tone  that  they  all  looked  at 
him  and  discovered  how  red  his  face  was. 
And  then,  while  all  the  court  gathered 
117 


JAMES    BARKERDING,    KNIGHT 

around  him,  with  mouth  and  eyes  wide 
open,  he  told  half  of  his  wonderful  fairy 
story.  Then  he  looked  at  Queen,  whose 
eyes  were  as  bright  as  new  silver  dollars, 
and  he  said,  with  a  mournful  expression  on 
his  face: 

"Just  to  think,  Queen,  you  might  have 
had  that  cream — 'twould  have  been  as  ele- 
gant as  the  rest  was.  I'm  awful  sorry! " 

"  I  ain't,"  said  Queen,  waving  her  hands 
majestically.  "  I  ain't.  I'd  ha'  been  choked 
with  the  old  stuff.  I  hate  stealers.  Any- 
way, I  don't  want  some  so  very  much  now— 
it's  all  been  lovely."  This  was  said  rather 
wistfully,  and  Jim's  eyes  gleamed. 

"You  don't,  don't  you?"  In  his  delight 
his  voice  was  high  and  shrill.  "Just  you 
wait!"  And  going  out,  he  dragged  in  his 
treasures  and  set  them  on  the  table. 

"There,  now,"  he  said,  "you've  got  to 
want  it.  She  sent  it  to  you,  an'  she's  comin' 
to  see  you  to-morrer!  " 

Then  what  a  hubbub  there  was!    Every 
one  was  so  excited,  and  so  happy,  and  it 
118 


JAMES    BARKERDING,    KNIGHT 

seemed  as  if  they  would  drown  Jim  in  a  sea 
of  questions. 

Mrs.  Barkerding  brought  her  lamp  and 
put  it  on  the  table,  then  got  clean  plates, 
and  the  celebration  was  begun  all  over 
again  in  a  blaze  of  glory,  lasting  long 
after  the  Queen's  usual  hour  for  going  to 
bed;  but  as  it  was  such  a  very  great  occa- 
sion, her  mother  had  not  the  heart  to  say  a 
word. 

But  to  Queen  the  best  part  of  the  whole 
surprise  was  after  the  knights  and  ladies 
had  all  left,  with  a  big  cheer  for  the  Queen 
and  for  the  court,  when  just  her  mother  and 
the  boys  were  there,  and  Jim  told  the  beau- 
tiful lady's  other  message  to  Queen,  while 
Mrs.  Barkerding's  face  beamed  with  pride  in 
her  boy,  who  was,  after  all,  so  true  a  knight. 

And  long  after  the  little  room  was  dark 
and  still,  except  for  the  noise  in  the  street 
below,  Queen  lay  wide  awake,  living  it  all 
over  again,  and  saying  to  herself  with  happy 
satisfaction: 

"She's  comin'  to-morrer — to-morrer!" 
9  119 


SAL:    HER   STORY 


SAL:    HER  STORY 


"No!"  she  said  slowly  and  emphati- 
cally. "  No,  Sal  ain't  a-goin'." 

"  Shut  up,  kid ! "  retorted  Jerry  angrily. 
"  I  says  yer  be,  an'  there  ain't  goin'  to  be  no 
row  'bout  it  nuther.  What  I  say,  I  mean,  or 
I  take  it  out  o'  yer  bones.  D'ye  hear?  " 

The  child  did  hear  most  decidedly,  for  in 
his  rage  her  brother  was  fairly  shouting;  but 
she  stood  irresolute,  shaking  her  head,  with 
the  toe  of  one  dilapidated  boot  crossed  over 
the  other,  which  position  she  occasionally 
reversed,  while  she  kept  her  earnest  eyes 
fixed  in  an  odd  sort  of  fascination  on  Jerry's 
face. 

"  Sal  wants  ter  stay  here,"  she  an- 
nounced finally  in  a  low,  half -awed  tone; 
"  Sal  ain't  a-goin'." 

"  Want  ter  stay  here,  do  yer?  "  sneered 
123 


SAL:    HER    STORY 

the  man.  "  Well,  so  do  I  want  a  gold-mine, 
but  'tain't  lyin'  round  loose.  You'll  shake 
that  ugly  mug  o'  your'n  off  ef  yer  ain't  care- 
ful. Look  here,  Sal,  no  more  nonsense.  Ef 
yer  didn't  choose  ter  get  stuck  fer  it,  what 
made  yer  fool  with  my  orgin?  Jest  put  on 
yer  duds  at  crack  o'  dawn  to-morrer  or  it'll 
be  the  worst  fer  yer.  No  more  vittles  or 
foolin'  with  Tip  ef  yer  don't.  Come,  mind 
that  now! " 

Jerry  started  away,  considering  the  mat- 
ter settled,  but  in  an  instant  Sal  had  flown 
at  him  with  the  fury  of  a  little  tiger. 

"No!  no!  .no!"  she  repeated,  as  she 
rained  blows  on  his  arms,  his  chest,  his  hips, 
anywhere  they  happened  to  alight.  "  Bad 
man,  bad  Jerry!  Sal  will  stay  here — Sal 
hates  Jerry!  No,  no,  I  ain't  a-goin',  I  ain't, 
I  ain't!" 

There  was  something  in  the  absolute 
frenzy  of  the  usually  quiet  child  that 
changed  Jerry's  anger  into  good  humor;  it 
amused  him,  for  he  was  a  man  who  liked 
to  torment  anything,  whether  a  fly  or  a 
124 


SAL:    HER    STORY 

human  being,  and  he  laughed  as  he  shook 
her  off. 

"Spunky,  ain't  ye?"  he  said  roughly. 
"Stop  makin'  hash  o'  me,  young  wildcat! 
'Tain't  no  good;  the  more  ye  kicks  the  worst 
fer  ye.  To-morrer  we  go.  Mind,  say  yes! " 

She  did  not  answer  at  once,  and  an  evil 
look  came  into  Jerry's  face.  Taking  her 
arms  and  pinning  them  to  her  sides  with  his 
stronger  ones,  he  stared  at  her  fiercely. 

"Say  it!"  he  shouted.  "Say  yes,"  and 
Sal,  terrified,  could  do  nothing  less.  When 
he  had  heard  her  answer  Jerry  released  her 
and  strode  off,  slamming  the  door  with  such 
force  that  the  whole  building  trembled. 

There  were  only  the  two  of  them,  big 
Jerry  and  little  Sal,  for  in  Sal's  recollection 
there  had  been  no  parent  to  command  or 
caress  her,  but  she  did  not  miss  that  which 
she  had  never  known,  and  was  not  lonesome 
for  the  mother  and  father  of  whom  she  had 
no  memory. 

When  she  began  to  notice  faces,  those  of 
the  Murphys  were  around  her,  for  from  the 
125 


SAL:    HER    STORY 

day  when  the  two  orphans  were  left  alone  in 
the  sixth  story  back  in  Mackintyre  Court, 
and  Jerry,  then  a  great  overgrown  fellow 
of  eighteen,  had  decided  to  go  out  and  shift 
for  himself,  kind-hearted  Mary  Murphy  had 
taken  upon  herself  the  care  of  the  orphan 
baby,  sharing  with  it  since  then  her  scanty 
fare  and  crowded  rooms  as  if  it  had  been 
her  own  kin.  This  she  did  from  pure  kind- 
ness, for  the  trifling  sums  of  money  which 
Jerry  gave  her  from  time  to  time  in  no  way 
rewarded  her  for  her  care  of  the  child,  but 
to  this  Jerry  paid  no  heed.  If  Mrs.  Murphy 
chose  to  take  what  he  gave  her,  well  and 
good;  if  not,  it  was  her  lookout,  not  his,  and 
he  was  utterly  uninterested  in  the  welfare 
of  his  small  sister.  Being  an  organ-grinder, 
he  found  food  and  lodging  wherever  he 
chanced  to  be,  and  so  came  seldom  to  the 
court,  where  his  rare  appearances  were 
dreaded  by  every  one,  particularly  by  Sal, 
who  was  afraid  of  the  large,  fierce-looking 
man  who  seemed  only  to  live  to  find  fault 
with  her. 

126 


SAL:    HER    STORY 

But  as  he  was  often  absent  for  months  at 
a  time,  Sal  was  usually  happy.  She  was  an 
odd  little  soul,  generally  speaking  of  herself 
in  the  third  person,  and  of  other  people  and 
things  in  as  few  words  as  possible.  For  the 
rest,  she  was  very  homely,  with  a  thatch  of 
straight  black  hair  standing  out  over  her 
deep-set  blue  eyes,  a  queer  little  snub  nose, 
and  a  merry  twinkle  in  her  eyes,  which 
flashed  and  danced  and  sparkled  when  she 
was  pleased  like  a  pair  of  will-o'-the-wisps. 
She  was  a  born  cleaner,  and  loved  to  sweep 
or  scrub  everything  that  came  in  her  way, 
dishes  or  floors  or  babies,  it  made  no  differ- 
ence so  long  as  she  could  scour  them  with 
soap  and  water.  Small  wonder  that  she 
was  a  favorite  in  the  house,  for  besides  keep- 
ing the  Murphy  rooms  in  the  highest  state  of 
polish,  she  devoted  her  odd  minutes  to  tidy- 
ing and  cleaning  for  the  other  women  whose 
work  kept  them  out  all  day.  After  the 
rooms  were  spotless  as  she  could  make  them, 
Sal  would  turn  her  attention  to  the  children, 
whom  she  amused  by  the  hour  at  a  time  with 
127 


SAL:    HER    STORY 

songs  and  dances  and  grimaces,  or,  when  all 
else  failed  to  please,  with  her  one  particular 
talent,  which  seldom  failed  to  bring  a  smile 
to  the  most  wan  little  faces. 

"  Go  ahead,  Sal,  cough  for  us!  "  were  the 
first  English  words  which  she  had  under- 
stood, and  always,  at  that  command,  she  had 
been  able  to  bring,  apparently  from  the  very 
bottom  of  her  shoes,  a  deep,  startling  cough. 
This  strange  ability  evidently  did  not  come 
from  disease,  for  she  had  never  been  sick  a 
day  in  her  seven  years  of  life.  The  cough 
was  clearly  only  a  trick,  a  habit,  or  a  talent, 
and  it  gained  for  her  the  name  "  Coughing 
Sal,"  that  distinguished  her  from  the  other 
Sals  in  the  house.  When  she  was  not  amu- 
sing babies  or  cleaning,  she  was  always  with 
Tip  Murphy,  who,  despite  being  five  years 
older,  was  her  greatest  friend,  and  who  took 
many  half-hours  from  his  boot-blacking  to 
be  with  her.  The  two  had  been  such  fast 
friends  from  Sal's  babyhood  that  she  was 
not  very  intimate  with  any  of  the  other  girls 
of  her  own  age;  that  is  to  say,  she  rarely 
128 


SAL:    HER    STORY 

played  with  them.  Tip  satisfied  her  long- 
ings, and  many  an  act  of  mischief  was  trace- 
able to  the  two. 

So,  with  her  work  and  her  chosen  chum, 
Sal  was  a  happy  little  girl  until  the  day 
when  it  was  found  out  that  her  talent  might 
have  a  commercial  value;  then  her  innocent 
content  was  destroyed,  and  in  this  way: 

It  was  on  one  of  the  rare  nights  when 
Jerry  had  appeared  in  the  court  that  the 
discovery  was  made.  He  had  pushed  his 
organ  into  the  rear  hall  of  the  tenement 
and  gone  off,  leaving  Sal  and  Tip  on  the 
rickety  front  steps  of  the  building,  spelling 
out  with  eager  interest  a  story  in  a  battered 
picture-book  which  Tip  had  rescued  from  an 
ash-barrel.  As  Jerry  strode  away,  Tip 
looked  up  and  hit  Sal  with  his  elbow. 

"  He's  left  it  in  there,"  he  said  with  a 
chuckle.  "Come  on,  let's  get  it  an'  play!" 

Sal's  eyes  sparkled  at  the  idea,  but  she 
shook  her  head. 

"  I  dassn't,"  she  said  with  decision. 

"'Fraid  cat!"  jeered  Tip  with  scorn. 
129 


SAL:    HER    STORY 

"  What  are  ye  scairt  of?  He  won't  ketch 
us,  an'  if  he  does,  I  won't  let  him  touch  ye. 
Come  on! "  But  Sal  still  hung  back,  so  Tip, 
determined  to  hear  the  tunes  he  loved,  got 
up  and  went  toward  the  organ. 

"I'll  get  it  myself,  then,"  he  said;  "I 
didn't  'spose  ye  was  sech  a  ninny! " 

That  was  too  much  to  bear  even  from 
Tip,  and  Sal  reluctantly  followed  and  helped 
him  drag  the  organ  from  its  place,  giving 
sidelong  glances  to  right  and  left  as  if  she 
feared  to  see  Jerry  spring  out  from  behind  a 
door.  But  when  the  instrument  was  safely 
set  on  the  pavement  and  she  had  begun  to 
turn  its  handle,  fear  was  forgotten  in  de- 
light over  the  strains  of  her  favorite  tune : 

White — wings — they — never — grow — weary, 
They — carry — me — cheerily — over — the — sea; 

Night — comes, — I — long — for — my — dearie, 
I'll — spread — out — my — white — wings — and — 
fly — home — to — thee. 

As  the  notes  were  slowly  ground  out,  Sal 
trembled    with    pleasure,    and    turned    the 
crank   with   the    greatest   deliberation,    to 
130 


SAL:    HER    STORY 

make  the  tune  last  as  long  as  she  could,  at 
the  same  time  singing  the  air  at  the  top  of 
her  shrill  little  voice.  As  the  last  note  died 
away  she  sighed,  then  frowned  when  she 
heard  the  first  bar  of  the  Rosebud  Waltz. 
Tip,  however,  gave  a  whoop  of  delight;  the 
merry  lilting  dance  music  suited  him  bet- 
ter, and  no  waltz  was  ever  more  entrancing 
than  the  Kosebud.  It  was  the  most  popular 
air  of  the  day,  and  Jerry's  one  of  the  few 
organs  that  played  it.  So  no  sooner  had 
Sal  played  the  opening  bar,  than  children 
sprang  up  on  every  side  ready  for  a  dance. 
It  was  a  pretty  sight,  for  many  of  them,  par- 
ticularly the  Italians,  picturesque  in  their 
gay  rags,  danced  as  if  their  lithe,  graceful 
little  bodies  were  bewitched  by  the  spell  of 
the  rhythm.  In  pairs  or  in  circles  or  singly, 
as  the  spirit  moved  them,  fully  thirty  boys 
and  girls  were  at  the  very  height  of  de- 
lighted exercise,  while  Tip  turned  hand- 
springs beside  the  organ,  when  two  figures 
loomed  up  unnoticed  at  the  other  end  of  the 
court  and  stood  a  moment  watching  the 
131 


SAL:    HER    STORY 

sport,  then  they  drew  nearer,  and  Sal  hap- 
pening to  look  up,  saw  Jerry  confronting 
her,  his  face  livid  with  rage.  She  dropped 
the  handle  as  if  it  had  been  a  hot  coal,  and 
the  music  stopped  with  a  sudden  jerk. 

The  dancing  ended  equally  abruptly,  and 
the  children  stood  for  a  moment  staring  at 
Sal's  great  brother,  whom  they  all  feared; 
at  the  stranger  with  him;  at  poor  Sal,  stand- 
ing by  the  organ  twisting  her  fingers  to* 
gether  and  looking  at  her  boots,  not  daring 
to  encounter  Jerry's  glance  again;  at  Tip 
standing  beside  her  in  an  attitude  of  defi- 
ance, ready  to  defend  her  if  necessary;  and 
then  one  by  one  they  crept  away,  leaving  Tip 
and  Sal  alone  to  face  the  two  men. 

"  I  didn't  mean  no  harm,"  Sal  said  finally 
in  a  low  voice,  but  Jerry  laughed  roughly, 
and  went  a  step  nearer  her.  "  H'm!  "  he  said 
savagely.  "  Ye  didn't,  didn't  ye?  I'll  teach 
ye  ter — 

Just  here  Tip  sprang  in  front  of  him  and 
faced  him. 

"  No,  ye  won't  neither!  "  he  said.  "  I  got 
132 


SAL:    HER    STORY 

the  orgin  an'  made  her  play,  an'  if  yer  wants 
ter  take  it  out  o'  some  un,  just  get  on  to  me. 
Ef  ye  touches  her  I'll  have  de  cops  on  to  ye, 
I'll—  He  was  about  to  spring  at  the  man, 
but  Sal  took  hold  of  his  arm.  "  Don't,"  she 
said  earnestly.  "  Don't,  he'll  hurt  ye— 
Then  from  sheer  nervousness  she  coughed, 
one  of  her  most  startling  coughs. 

"  Gad!  what  a  noise! "  exclaimed  Jerry's 
companion,  who  had  seated  himself  on  the 
steps  and  was  watching  the  quarrel  with  in- 
terest. "Gad!"  And  turning  to  Jerry,  he 
asked,  "  Say,  ain't  she  a  lunger?  " 

Jerry  laughed  noisily.  "  A  lunger?  Not 
she!  She  wuz  born  doin' that.  It's  just  one 
o'  her  tricks,  it  don't  mean  nothin'." 

Then  both  men  looked  so  intently  at  the 
child  that  she  coughed  once  more  from  em- 
barrassment, and  the  stranger  spoke  hasti- 
ly, before  Jerry  had  time  to  give  way  to  his 
anger  again. 

"  I  say,"  he  said,  "  ef  that  there's  a  trick 
cough,  there's  a  fortin'  in  it.  It's  a  reg'lar 
bank." 

133 


SAL:    HER    STORY 

"  Bank?  "  Jerry  fairly  stammered  in  his 
excitement.  "  What're  ye  givin'  us?  " 

"  What  I  say.  Ef  she  can  do  it  ter  order, 
take  de  kid  wid  ye  ter  pull  bells  to  ask  fer 
pennies  wid  a  fetchin'  '  goin'-ter-die-to-mor- 
rer '  look,  an'  I  bet  ye  ten  ter  one  you'll  see 
de  chips  roll  in." 

Sal  was  watching  the  two  with  wide- 
open,  solemn  eyes.  "  'Tain't  a  trick  cough," 
she  said  finally.  "  Sal  ain't  goin'  with 
Jerry." 

"  Ef  'tain't  genooine,  it's  a  trick,"  an- 
swered Jerry,  whose  frown  had  entirely  dis- 
appeared with  interest  in  the  new  plan.  "  I 
says  it's  a  trick,  an'  ef  it'll  bring  in  boodle, 
ye  don't  have  nothin'  ter  say  about  it.  Ain't 
it  better  ter  go  than  ter  be  licked  to  an  inch 
o'  yer  life  or  go  ter  jail?  Say,  ain't  it?  " 

This  was  too  much  for  Tip.  Clenching 
his  fists,  he  boldly  strode  in  front  of  Jerry 
again.  "Ye  lie!"  he  said  fiercely.  "Say 
jail  again  an'  I'll  smash  yer  head!" 

The  big  man  laughed.  "  Want  ter 
fight?"  he  asked.  "All  right,  come  on!" 
134 


SAL:    HER    STORY 

And  before  Tip  had  a  chance  to  breathe,  he 
was  seized  by  the  collar  and  pitched  into  the 
middle  of  the  street,  and  when  he  picked 
himself  up  to  hit  back,  both  men  and  Sal  had 
disappeared. 

Breathlessly  he  ran  to  the  house,  but  the 
door  was  barred,  and  from  the  sounds  within 
Tip  argued  that  Sal  was  a  prisoner  and 
Jerry  her  keeper.  He  was  really  very  much 
afraid  of  Jerry,  so  he  did  not  dare  to  do  any- 
thing except  tramp  up  and  down  outside 
making  plans  for  revenge,  until  his  mother 
came  home,  when  Jerry  was  obliged  to  un- 
bar the  door  for  her,  and  at  the  same  time 
Tip  slipped  in  too. 

There  was  a  scene  then,  when  Jerry  told 
of  his  new  plan  for  Sal,  for  Mary  Murphy 
was  honestly  fond  of  the  child  and  dreaded 
to  have  her  go  out  to  such  a  life.  She  coaxed 
and  implored  and  even  cried,  and  Mr.  Mur- 
phy threatened,  but  it  was  useless;  Jerry 
was  fierce  and  strong,  and  besides  that,  the 
child  was  his  flesh  and  blood,  the  Murphys 
had  no  right  of  actual  possession,  so  at 
10  135 


SAL:    HER    STORY 

last,  frightened  and  tired  out,  Sal  gave  her 
promise  and  Jerry  strode  off.  Sal  did  not 
cry — that  was  not  her  way — but  she  was  very 
solemn  and  quiet,  and  notwithstanding  Mrs. 
Murphy's  words  of  comfort,  crept  to  bed  in 
a  very  forlorn  mood,  to  wake  the  next  morn- 
ing with  a  dull  sense  of  being  all  alone  in  a 
strange  new  world,  where  no  one  would  care 
for  her  or  let  her  do  the  things  she  liked 
best. 

Running  away  did  not  occur  to  her  until 
Tip  whispered  the  idea  in  her  ear,  but  she 
shook  her  head. 

"  I  dassn't,"  she  said.  "  He'd  ketch  me. 
Sal's  goin'."  And  poor,  angry,  rebellious 
Tip  had  to  stand  by  and  see  the  pathetic  lit- 
tle figure  led  away  by  Jerry,  who  appeared 
at  the  earliest  possible  moment  for  his 
victim. 

When  the  child  was  ready  to  start,  she 
looked  like  a  veritable  Mother  Bunch;  her 
large  boots,  which  dropped  away  from  her 
feet  with  a  clicking  sound  at  each  step,  were 
tied  around  her  ankles  with  a  stout  cord  just 
136 


SAL:    HER    STORY 

below  the  fringe  of  tatters  at  the  bottom  of 
her  dingy  fragment  of  a  skirt.  Over  her 
head  and  hanging  down  her  back  in  a  point 
was  pinned  a  small,  much-faded  plaid  shawl, 
making  her  little  face  look  thin  and  wan, 
and  when  Jerry  had  suspended  the  cup  for 
pennies  around  her  neck  on  a  string,  her 
costume  was  complete,  and  in  Tip's  eyes  she 
looked  both  stylish  and  beautiful.  It  gave 
him  a  queer  feeling  down  under  the  back  of 
his  torn  coat  when  he  saw  her  trudge  off  and 
turn  back;  once,  twice,  a  third  time  she 
turned,  with  such  a  wistful  look  at  him  that 
he  could  not  stand  it  without  letting  the 
babyish  tears  come  to  his  eyes,  which,  of 
course,  he  would  never  do;  so  when  she 
looked  back  for  the  last  time  he  was  stand- 
ing on  his  head,  making  such  a  comical,  up- 
side-down face  that  Sal  smiled  faintly. 
Then  they  turned  the  corner  and  were  out 
of  Tip's  sight. 

And  so  Sal  became  like  Jerry,  a  wan- 
derer. 

The  first  day  was  a  continual  surprise  to 
137 


SAL:    HER    STORY 

her.  They  walked  so  many  miles,  and  at 
every  turn  there  were  so  many  new  sights 
to  be  seen.  There  were  such  quantities  of 
people  and  vehicles  and  great  buildings 
everywhere  that  she  was  dazed,  and  did  not 
know  whether  she  was  waking  or  sleeping. 
At  last  in  a  side  street,  at  least  a  thousand 
miles  from  Mackintyre  Court,  Sal  thought, 
Jerry  set  the  organ  down  and  began  to  play 
in  front  of  one  of  a  long  row  of  houses, 
motioning  to  Sal  to  go  to  the  door.  "  Cough 
hard!"  he  commanded,  and  timidly  she 
mounted  the  steps,  thinking,  as  she  rang  the 
bell,  of  Tip,  and  of  all  the  work  left  undone 
in  the  court  because  of  her  absence.  As  she 
waited  for  the  bell  to  be  answered  the  organ 
began  the  old  familiar 

White — wings — they — never — grow — weary, 
They — carry — me — cheerily — over — the — sea ; 

Night — comes, — I — long — for — my — dearie, 
I'll — spread — out — my — white — wings — and — 
fly — home — to — thee. 

The  dear,  long-loved  tune  so  absorbed  her 
attention  that  when  the  door  opened  she  had 
138 


Sal. 


SAL:    HER    STORY 

entirely  forgotten  what  she  was  expected  to 
do,  and  just  stood  staring  at  the  maid,  who 
returned  the  stare  for  a  moment,  then  said 
decidedly,  "  Not  to-day,  little  girl,"  and 
slammed  the  door.  Then  Sal  remembered 
what  she  ought  to  have  done,  but  it  was  too 
late,  alas!  and  there  was  not  a  penny  in  the 
little  cup.  Jerry  had  watched  her  closely, 
and  when  she  came  down  he  said  with  a 
threatening  gesture: 

"Cough,  or  ye  goes  ter  jail,  mind  that! " 
So  plucking  up  courage,  she  crept  up  the 
next  steps,  and  as  soon  as  the  door  was 
opened,  coughed  so  violently  that  she  felt 
weak  after  it,  but  as  she  got  some  pennies, 
she  did  not  mind,  and  after  that  first  time  it 
was  not  so  hard.  She  did  not  dare  forget 
again,  and  whether  because  of  the  cough  or 
because  of  the  quaint  face  and  bearing  of  the 
child,  the  cup  filled  and  refilled  until  Jerry 
was  smiling  and  spoke  gently  to  her.  So  the 
day  as  a  whole  was  not  as  long  and  dreadful 
as  she  had  feared.  There  was  the  organ 
that  she  loved  playing  all  the  time,  and  the 
139 


SAL:    HER    STORY 

skj  was  blue  and  the  air  fine,  and  at  many 
places  people  spoke  kindly  to  her,  even  ask- 
ing about  the  cough,  but  she  ran  away,  be- 
ing much  too  shy  to  speak  to  strangers. 
The  hours  passed  quickly,  and  almost  before 
she  knew  it  they  were  back  in  the  court 
again.  It  did  not  please  Jerry  at  all  to  go 
there  every  night,  but  he  did  not  know  what 
else  to  do  with  the  child  for  the  present,  so 
he  took  her  to  the  Murphys;  then  went  off, 
in  a  fine  humor,  for  his  earnings  were  almost 
double  the  usual  amount,  and  in  his  joy  he 
tossed  a  dime  to  Sal  before  he  left — a  whole, 
bright,  clean  dime — more  than  she  had  ever 
had  in  her  life.  She  put  it  in  her  mouth  for 
safe-keeping  until  Tip  should  come  to  share 
it  with  her,  and  then,  after  satisfying  her 
hunger  as  well  as  she  could,  and  answering 
Mrs.  Murphy's  eager  questions  about  the 
day,  she  flew  for  her  old  stump  of  a  broom 
in  a  perfect  whirl  of  affection,  and  was  bus- 
ily sweeping  when  Tip  appeared. 

ft  Hello ! "  he  said  admiringly.     "  You're 
one  an'  a  half,  you  are!     Ain't  ye  tuckered 
140 


SAL:    HER    STORY 

out?  Here,  gi'  me  de  broom  an'  quit.  Tell 
us  how  much  ye  scooped  fer  that  old  rap- 
scallion! " 

Sal  looked  at  him  with  a  comical  expres- 
sion, and  stringing  the  cup  around  her  neck 
again,  shuffled  over  and  held  it  out  to  him 
with  the  most  pathetic  cough  she  could 
call  up. 

Tip  roared  with  laughter  and  slapped  his 
knees  with  his  hands.  "  You're  a  good  un, 
an'  no  mistake,"  he  chuckled.  "  Take  it, 
Sal;  take  me  head,  me  cash,  me  legs,  but  quit 
that  noise! " 

Then  Sal  produced  the  dime  and  ordered 
him  off  to  the  corner  store  for  sticks  of 
candy  to  celebrate  with,  and  when  he 
brought  not  only  the  candy,  but  two  sugar 
buns  as  well,  they  had  a  regular  feast,  and 
the  day  ended  in  a  blaze  of  festivity. 

The  next  day,  and  all  the  succeeding 
ones  for  a  fortnight,  were  much  like  the  first, 
and  the  new  life  had  in  it  a  charm  of  nov- 
elty, but  soon  it  began  to  wear  on  Sal,  and 
when  she  got  back  to  the  court  she  would 
141 


SAL:    HER    STORY 

curl  up  in  a  little  heap,  too  tired  to  have 
any  fun  with  Tip  or  to  take  her  broom  from 
its  corner.  Trudging  up  and  down  steps  all 
day  long,  the  scant  allowance  of  food,  the 
exposure  to  stormy  weather,  were  all  telling 
on  the  child,  and  more  than  that,  Jerry  was 
becoming  less  and  less  kind  to  her.  He  had 
discovered  that  she  did  not  always  obey  him 
— that  sometimes  she  would  only  cough  at 
one  of  a  dozen  houses;  he  scolded  and  com- 
manded, and  would  not  listen  to  her  ex- 
planations that  at  times  the  cough  would 
not  come. 

"  Tell  that  ter  the  marines,  young  un," 
he  said  with  contempt.  "  Ye  kin  cough  when 
ye  wants,  an'  I  says  it's  ter  be  at  every 
house,  d'ye  hear?  "  He  looked  so  fierce  and 
strong  that  Sal  was  frightened  and  gave  a 
quivering  promise  to  try  her  best. 

"  Ef  I  don't  hear  ye  bark  good  an'  loud 
all  day,  I'll  leave  ye  alone  in  the  street  at 
night,"  he  threatened,  and  Sal  did  not  doubt 
that  he  would  be  as  good  as  his  word. 

At  length,  by  the  time  cold  weather  had 
142 


SAL:    HER    STORY 

come,  Jerry  had  grown  so  tired  of  going 
back  to  the  court  each  night  that  he  began 
to  take  Sal  with  him  to  lodging  places, 
where  the  tidy  little  soul  would  sit  up  all 
night  rather  than  lie  down  in  such  filth. 
And  often  in  the  daytime  they  rested  at  a 
sort  of  parlor  which  was  always  warm  and 
bright,  where  Jerry  was  able  to  get  nice  hot 
things  to  drink,  but  where  there  was  noth- 
ing for  Sal  to  eat,  and  she  dreaded  to  go  into 
these  places,  for  afterward  Jerry  was  al- 
ways more  unkind  to  her  than  before.  The 
only  bright  spots  in  her  days  were  the  stops 
they  made  at  houses  where  the  little  figure 
was  well  known  and  where  the  women  who 
came  to  the  doors  not  only  did  not  wait  for 
her  to  cough,  but  smilingly  gave  her  money 
at  once. 

"  It's  the  little  coughing  girl;  please,  may 
we  give  her  an  orange?  "  she  would  often 
hear  the  children  call  up-stairs,  and  then 
they  would  give  her  some  dainties  and  S^l 
would  smile  a  solemn,  half-scared  smile, 
flash  a  merry  look  of  gratitude  at  them 
143 


SAL:     HER    STORY 

from  under  her  long  lashes,  and  escape  as 
fast  as  possible,  being  very  ill  at  ease  with 
such  beribboned,  beruffled  little  creatures. 

One  day  she  had  a  narrow  escape  at  a 
house  where  she  was  a  great  favorite  with 
the  children.  They  had  seen  her  coming, 
had  run  down  to  open  the  door,  and  eagerly 
pulled  her  into  the  house. 

"  Come!  "  they  insisted.  "  Mama  said  you 
could  see  our  tree."  And  before  she  had 
time  to  resist,  they  had  taken  her  into  a 
room  where  there  was  a  large  green  Christ- 
mas tree  standing.  She  knew  what  it  was 
called,  for  a  German  family  in  the  court  had 
once  had  one.  There  were  a  number  of  boys 
and  girls — who  looked  like  big  dolls  to  Sal — 
dancing  around  the  tree,  taking  things 
from  its  branches,  and  the  girl  who  had 
brought  Sal  in  rushed  away  and  returned 
with  toys  and  candy,  which  she  thrust  into 
Sal's  arms.  "  There!  "  she  said  in  a  tone  of 
satisfaction.  "  There,  poor  little  girl,  Santa 
Glaus  sent  them  to  you;  now  come  and  play 
with  us." 

144 


SAL:    HER    STORY 

Play  with  those  fairy-like  creatures!  'Sal 
fairly  gasped  at  the  thought,  dropped  her 
armful  of  toys  on  the  floor,  and  seeing  the 
door  still  open,  flew  to  it,  and  never  so  much 
as  looked  behind  or  drew  a  long  breath  until 
she  was  down  by  Jerry's  side  again.  For- 
getting her  fear  of  him,  she  pulled  his  sleeve. 
"  Come,"  she  insisted.  "  Come  quick! "  And 
Jerry,  much  astonished,  moved  on  farther 
down  the  street;  then  he  demanded  the 
money,  and  Sal  was  obliged  to  confess  that 
she  not  only  had  not  asked  for  any,  but  had 
had  other  things  given  her  which  she  had 
left  behind;  and  a  frown  gathered  on  his 
forehead. 

"  What's  that  dangling  to  ye?  "  he  ques- 
tioned, and  following  the  direction  of  his 
eye,  Sal  twisted  about  and  discovered  a  doll 
suspended  from  the  fringe  of  her  shawl. 
Evidently  it  had  been  one  of  her  presents, 
and  as  she  dropped  the  things,  a  hook  of  the 
doll's  dress  had  caught  in  the  fringe;  so 
there  it  was,  a  chubby,  flaxen-haired  toy, 
smiling  at  Sal  as  much  as  to  say,  "  I  am  here 
145 


SAL:    HER    STORY 

to  comfort  you!  "  and  Sal,  regardless  of  Jer- 
ry's muttered  words,  carefully  unhooked  the 
treasure,  wrapped  it  in  a  corner  of  her  shawl, 
and  holding  it  tightly  in  her  arms,  swayed 
back  and  forth  with  a  rocking  motion.  In 
his  anger  the  man  would  have  torn  it  from 
her  and  hurled  it  in  the  street,  but  Sal  was 
too  quick  for  him.  Clasping  it  even  closer, 
she  spun  round  and  round  on  one  heel,  say- 
ing decidedly:  "Sal  have  baby,  Sal  cough; 
not  have  baby,  not  cough  one  bit."  And  the 
man  for  his  own  advantage  thought  it  best 
to  leave  the  treasure  in  her  arms,  and  on 
they  tramped  through  the  snow,  till  Sal's 
teeth  chattered  and  her  lips  were  blue.  As 
a  general  thing  Jerry  did  not  take  his  organ 
out  on  really  bitter  or  stormy  days,  but  the 
child  had  so  increased  his  earnings  that  he 
could  not  resist  the  temptation  now  to  go 
out  unless  the  streets  were  absolutely  im- 
passable. On  such  days  they  spent  their 
time  in  the  bright  parlors  where  Jerry  got 
the  hot  things  to  drink,  and  where  the  men 
told  funny  stories  that  Sal  stored  up  to  tell 
146 


SAL:    HER    STORY 

Tip  if  she  should  ever  see  him  again,  al- 
though of  that  she  had  now  little  hope,  for 
three  months  had  gone  by  since  her  last 
night  in  the  court.  She  was,  oh,  so  tired  and 
lonesome  for  the  old  friends,  and  so  pale  and 
thin  that  she  was  only  a  ghost  of  the  old 
Sal,  and  now  every  time  she  coughed  it  gave 
her  a  sharp  pain.  This  she  told  Jerry,  but 
he  only  laughed  and  told  her  to  "  Shut  up 
and  come  along."  So  on  she  trudged,  day 
after  day,  having  difficulty  to  choke  down 
the  cough  between  times,  for  it  hurt  her  so 
badly. 

"  It's  reel,  honest  it  is,"  she  pleaded  ear- 
nestly when  she  and  Jerry  were  lodging  for 
the  night  in  an  empty  furniture-van  lying  at 
the  side  of  a  street  in  Harlem  on  the  West 
Side.  The  van  was  dry  and  roomy,  but  so 
cold  that  shivers  played  hide  and  seek  up 
and  down  Sal's  back,  and  the  tears — rare 
sight  in  her  eyes  until  lately — almost  froze 
on  her  cheeks. 

"'Tis  a  truly  cough;  Sal  can't  help  it. 
Take  Sal  back.     Jerry,  take  Sal  to  Tip! " 
147 


SAL:    HER    STORY 

Again  and  again  she  cried  out  in  these 
words,  but  the  man  was  in  a  stupor  and  paid 
no  attention  to  her  moanings,  so  she 
crouched  there  in  the  darkness,  hugging  her 
doll,  the  one  comfort  of  her  dreary  life,  and 
as  she  crooned  a  lullaby  to  it,  she  thought 
of  the  babies  in  the  court,  of  the  pranks  she 
and  Tip  used  to  play;  then  the  pretty  fair- 
ies she  had  seen  dancing  around  the  Christ- 
mas tree  seemed  to  be  surrounding  her. 
Where  was  she? 

Rousing  from  a  dream,  she  heard  the 
heavy  sound  of  Jerry's  snoring.  He  was  fast 
asleep,  that  was  evident,  and  she  might  cry 
out  all  night  without  being  answered.  How 
could  she  bear  the  cold  for  another  minute? 

Quick  as  a  flash  she  seemed  to  hear  Tip 
whisper  "  Eun  away!  "  and  without  thinking 
or  planning,  or  even  knowing  that  she  was 
going  to  do  it,  she  was  out  of  the  van,  walk- 
ing away  just  as  fast  as  her  tired,  numb  feet 
would  carry  her  in  the  direction  which  she 
thought  would  take  her  to  the  court.  To  be 
sure,  she  had  never  been  there  from  that 
148 


SAL:    HER    STORY 

part  of  the  city,  nor  had  she  the  slightest  idea 
of  its  locality,  but  this  she  did  not  stop  to  con- 
sider; at  the  age  of  seven,  when  one  is  sick 
and  abused,  one  does  not  stop  to  reason,  one 
acts,  and  Sal  only  thought  that  if  she  walked 
long  enough  and  far  enough  she  would  at 
last  find  herself  in  the  narrow,  winding  alley 
which  was  home  to  her.  So  on  she  tramped. 
Once  or  twice  she  thought  she  heard  Jerry 
behind  her,  and  she  trembled  with  fear,  but 
it  was  not  he,  and  she  went  on  and  on  alone 
through  the  silent  streets.  At  first  she  was 
too  much  excited  to  feel  fatigue;  then  some- 
thing in  her  knees  gave  out,  and  she  was 
obliged  to  sink  down  on  the  steps  of  a  house. 
It  had  grown  very  hot,  she  thought,  and  she 
threw  off  the  shawl  from  her  head  and  shoul- 
ders and  tried  to  curl  up  on  the  hard  stone 
step.  Under  a  gas-lamp  on  the  block  be- 
yond she  saw  a  big  policeman  coming  to- 
wrard  her,  and  it  came  to  her  mind  that  he 
would  tell  her  how  to  get  to  the  court,  but 
at  the  corner,  before  he  was  near  enough  to 
hear  her  voice,  he  turned,  and  she  heard  his 
149 


SAL:    HER    STORY 

footsteps  echoing  down  a  side  street.  What 
should  she  do?  She  felt  so  sick  and  lone- 
some that  she  could  not  stay  there  by  her- 
self another  minute;  but  when  she  tried  to 
get  up  she  was  too  stiff  to  move.  Then  came 
a  spasm  of  coughing,  and  as  she  lay  back, 
trying  to  get  rested  after  it,  she  thought  Tip 
came  and  laid  his  hand  on  her  shoulder  and 
she  heard  his  voice.  She  was  glad,  so  glad! 
and  lay  back  on  his  arm  saying  not  a  single 
word,  too  happy  to  mind  cold  or  pain  any 
more. 

When  she  woke  up  she  lay  quite  still,  try- 
ing to  understand  what  had  happened  and 
where  she  was.  There  was  no  darkness  and 
no  Tip,  but  bright  sunshine  was  dancing 
over  a  floor  all  covered  with  bunches  of 
flowers.  Slowly  her  solemn  eyes  roved 
around,  looking  at  things  of  which  she  did 
not  know  the  name  or  nature.  Even  what 
she  was  lying  on  was  like  a  dream,  it  felt  as 
if  it  were  a  pile  of  soft  clouds  to  her  tired 
little  body,  and  over  her  were  laid  shining 
white  things. 

150 


SAL:    HER    STORY 

Had  she  become  a  fairy?  Where  was 
Jerry?  There  was  a  step  beside  her,  and  a 
sweet  face  bent  over  her,  while  some  one  said 
softly,  "  She  is  awake  now."  Then  a  hand 
was  laid  on  her  head  and  the  low  voice 
asked,  "  Do  you  feel  better,  dear?  "  And  as 
she  did  not  answer  the  voice  added  hastily: 
"There!  there!  don't  try  to  talk,  child,  you 
are  too  tired;  just  go  to  sleep  again."  And 
Sal,  dazed  and  wondering,  did  as  she  was 
told.  But  there  came  a  time  when  she  woke 
up  feeling  very  different.  The  pain  in  her 
bones  was  gone,  she  did  not  cough,  and  she 
was  warm  and  comfortable,  as  she  had  not 
been  since  she  could  remember.  There  was 
a  big  man  holding  her  hand,  and  after  she 
had  watched  him  intently  for  some  time,  she 
asked  solemnly,  "  Where's  Jerry? "  The 
man  answered  with  a  smile  that  Jerry 
wasn't  there  just  then,  but  perhaps  he  would 
be  by  and  by. 

"  Where's  Tip?  "  Sal's  voice  was  clear 
and  strong.  The  man  made  some  reply  that 
did  not  satisfy  her,  and  she  went  on  talking 
I*  151 


SAL:    HER    STORY 

as  if  to  herself.  "  I  ain't  a-goin',  I  ain't, 
I  ain't!  Jerry  hates  Sal;  Sal  stay  here!" 
Then  her  eyes  grew  wild  and  she  cried  out: 
"  Where  is  Sal?  Where  is  Sal's  shawl?  Sal 
go  back! " 

Then  a  firm  hand  was  laid  on  her  hot  one, 
and  the  sweet  voice  which  she  had  heard  be- 
fore said:  "Listen,  dear;  you  have  been  a 
very,  very  sick  little  girl.  One  night  a  gen- 
tleman came  to  this  house  very  late  indeed. 
He  found  you  on  the  steps  and  brought  you 
in  for  us  to  take  care  of,  and  you  are  going 
to  be  well  and  strong  again,  and  tell  us  all 
about  Jerry,  and  Tip,  and  how  you  came 
here,  but  now  you  must  be  quiet,  and  drink 
what  I  give  you,  or  you  will  be  sick  again. 
That's  a  good  little  girl,"  as  Sal  obediently 
drank  the  dose.  To  her  the  lady  was  a 
strange,  beautiful  creature,  whom  she  would 
not  dream  of  disobeying,  and  after  she  had 
taken  the  drink  she  felt  sleepy  again,  and 
lay  there  quietly,  thinking  of  what  she  had 
been  told. 

So  that  was  what  had  happened,  and 
152 


SAL:    HER    STORY 

why  she  was  in  such  a  wonderful  place.  The 
little  girls  who  were  so  much  like  fairies 
must  live  in  rooms  like  these.  She  won- 
dered what  Jerry  did  when  he  roused  and 
found  her  gone,  for  now  she  remembered  all 
about  that  night  and  how  she  had  run  away. 
She  wondered  how  far  from  the  court  she 
was,  and  as  she  lay  there  thinking,  every 
now  and  then  the  lady  would  come  and  smile 
at  her  in  the  way  Mrs.  Murphy  used  to  smile 
at  her  baby  when  she  was  rocking  it  to 
sleep. 

After  that  Sal  grew  stronger  very  fast, 
and  soon  was  able  to  sit  up  in  an  easy  chair 
and  hold  the  dirty  fragment  of  a  doll  which 
had  been  in  her  arms  when  she  was  found. 
They  tried  in  vain  to  replace  it  with  a  new 
dainty  one,  but  that  brought  on  a  tempest 
of  sobs,  so  they  let  her  have  her  way,  and 
the  old  doll  was  with  her  night  and  day. 
When  she  began  to  walk  about  the  house  she 
did  not  look  much  like  the  old  Sal;  her 
clothes  were  clean  and  whole,  her  hair  was 
neatly  tied  off  her  forehead  with  a  bright 
153 


SAL:    HER    STORY 

ribbon,  and  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  she 
wore  shoes  and  stockings  that  fitted  her. 
She  was  given  every  kind  of  toy  and  picture- 
book  to  amuse  herself  with,  too,  and  it 
seemed  as  if  she  ought  to  be  as  contented  as 
any  child  who  ever  lived,  but  she  did  not 
laugh  or  play  as  if  she  were  pleased.  She 
was  always  solemn  and  quiet  except  when 
she  and  her  doll  were  left  alone,  when  she 
would  pour  out  a  volume  of  songs  and 
stories  into  its  china  ear,  but  the  very  in- 
stant she  heard  some  one  coming  near  she 
would  become  shy  and  subdued  again,  and 
the  sweet  lady  grew  much  worried  about 
her. 

One  afternoon  she  said  to  Sal:  "Now, 
dearie,  I  want  you  to  tell  me  about  it  all; 
about  Tip,  and  Jerry,  and  the  other  people 
you  remember,  and  then  I  will  tell  you  some- 
thing nice." 

After  a  great  deal  of  coaxing  Sal  told  her 
story  in  a  most  incoherent  fashion  and  in 
language  all  her  own.  She  was  a  very  delib- 
erate talker,  so  the  recital  took  a  long  time, 
154 


SAL:    HER    STORY 

but  the  lady  listened  patiently  and  her  eyes 
were  full  of  great  drops  when  she  went  over 
to  Sal's  chair,  and  kneeling  down  by  her,  put 
her  arm  around  the  child. 

"  Dear  little  girl,"  she  said  softly,  "  it 
was  too  hard  for  such  a  wee  lady  to  bear, 
but  it  is  all  over,  and  you  are  my  child 
now.  I  had  a  little  girl  of  my  own  once, 
Sal,  just  like  you,  with  black  hair  and  gray 
eyes,  but  one  day  the  angels  came  and  took 
her  from  me."  Noticing  the  wonderment  in 
Sal's  face,  Mrs.  Evans,  for  that  was  the 
lady's  name,  added  hastily:  "You  do  not 
know  who  the  angels  are,  do  you,  dear?  But 
I  shall  teach  you  all  about  them  soon.  Well, 
they  came  and  took  my  little  girl,  and  then 
they  left  little  Sal  on  the  steps  to  comfort 
me.  Do  you  see,  dear?  Mrs.  Evans  wants 
Sal  to  stay  and  be  her  very  own,  never  to 
work  any  more,  but  to  be  loved  and  cared 
for.  How  would  Sal  like  that?  " 

Not  once  had  Sal  taken  her  earnest  eyes 
from  Mrs.  Evans's  face  while  she  was  speak- 
ing, but  when  the  lady  asked  the  question 
155 


SAL:    HER    STORY 

a  worried  look  crept  into  her  eyes,  she 
stamped  her  small  foot,  and  said  with  de- 
cision: 

"No!  no!  You  go  with  Sal!  Sal  wants 
ter  go  back.  You  go  with  Sal!"  Then 
there  was  evidently  a  struggle  in  her  mind, 
for  she  had  a  real  fondness  for  this  kind  new 
friend,  in  whose  eyes  she  saw  tears  gather- 
ing. For  a  moment  she  stood  in  her  old 
fashion,  with  the  toe  of  one  shoe  crossed 
over  the  other,  her  eyes  on  the  ground;  then 
raising  her  small  hand,  she  awkwardly  pat- 
ted Mrs.  Evans's  cheek,  but  said  no  word  of 
contentment.  Mrs.  Evans  named  over  all 
the  amusements  and  toys  and  children 
she  could  have  to  play  with,  but  it  was  in 
vain.  Sal  only  repeated,  "  You  go  with  Sal! 
Take  Sal  back! "  until  at  last  she  became  so 
excited  that  Mr.  Evans,  who  had  come  in, 
had  to  promise  that  he  would  try  to  find  the 
court  and  take  her  back  to  it.  After  that 
the  child  grew  calm  and  suffered  herself  to 
smile  solemnly  again. 

Sal's  unhappiness  made  Mrs.  Evans  feel 
156 


SAL:    HER    STORY 

very  sad,  and  even  her  husband's  explana- 
tion of  it  failed  to  comfort  her. 

"  My  dear,"  he  said,  "  you  must  remem- 
ber that  this  life  is  as  strange  and  unnatural 
to  her  as  hers  would  be  to  us,  and  the  poor 
child  is  fighting  with  desperate  homesick- 
ness. It  seems  to  me  it  is  our  duty  to  find 
this  place  where  she  belongs,  if  possible; 
that  is,  of  course,  if  in  doing  it  we  can  pro- 
tect her  from  that  brute,  Jerry." 

"  If  we  had  not  found  her  on  Ethel's 
birthday,  and  if  she  did  not  have  such 
quaint,  refined  ways,  I  should  not  dare  to 
keep  her,"  urged  Mrs.  Evans.  "  But  as  it  is, 
I  feel  that  she  was  sent  to  us,  and  that  we 
have  a  right  to  have  her,  knowing  better 
what  will  be  best  for  her  in  the  end  than  she 
does  herself,  poor  little  mite!" 

Weeks  went  by,  and  the  Evanses  hoped 
that  Sal  was  growing  more  reconciled  to 
staying  with  them,  for  she  said  nothing  more 
of  Tip  or  of  wanting  to  go.  Once  she  dis- 
covered a  broom  down  in  the  basement,  and 
something  like  her  old  energy  came  back  to 
157 


SAL:    HER    STORY 

her  as  she  timidly  lifted  it  and  began  to 
sweep,  but  the  housemaid  took  it  from  her, 
saying  it  was  too  heavy  for  "  the  likes  of 
her,"  and  listlessly  Sal  gave  it  up  and  went 
back  to  her  toys  again. 

She  did  not  seem  as  well  and  strong  as 
they  had  expected  when  she  first  began  to 
show  the  effects  of  care  and  food.  She  had 
no  ambition  to  romp  or  walk  or  play,  and 
when  they  urged  her  to  go  out,  she  would 
shake  her  head,  saying  pitifully: 

"  Jerry  ketch  Sal — Jerry  hates  Sal." 

At  length  the  doctor  was  called  in  to  see 
her,  but  he  only  shook  his  head.  "  There  is 
nothing  the  matter  that  I  can  see,"  he  said. 
"  No  organic  trouble  anywhere,  madam.  It 
must  be  imagination."  And  off  he  went,  be- 
ing a  very  busy  man,  but  Mrs.  Evans,  as  she 
looked  at  Sal,  was  far  from  being  satisfied, 
and  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes,  for  al- 
though the  child  was  smiling  at  her,  it  was 
in  such  a  pathetic  way  that  it  went  to  the 
good  woman's  heart. 

Then  as  she  looked  she  gave  a  sudden 
158 


SAL:    HER    STORY 

exclamation  of  surprise,  for  Sal  had  jumped 
to  her  feet,  with  crimsoning  cheeks  and  ex- 
cited eyes,  every  muscle  strained  to  catch 
the  sound  of — what? 

W-h-i-t-e   w-i-n-g-s   t-h-e-y — never — grow — weary, 
They — carry — me — cheerily — over — the — sea; 

Night— comes, — I — long — for — my — dearie, 
I'll — spread — out — my — white — wings — and — fly — 
home — to — thee. 

The  old  beloved  strains!  In  the  middle 
of  the  floor  she  stood,  not  breathing  or  stir- 
ring until  the  last  note  died  away  and  the 
opening  bar  of  the  merry  Rosebud  Waltz 
sounded.  Then,  with  one  shriek  she  van- 
ished headlong  down  the  stairs,  and  Mrs. 
Evans  following,  saw  her  rush  out  like  a 
little  crazy  creature  and  stand  directly  in 
front  of  a  tall,  awkward  boy  grinding  the 
organ,  dance  up  and  down,  wave  her  hands, 
nod  her  head  like  a  mandarin,  crying  over 
and  over,  in  a  voice  that  could  be  heard  from 
avenue  to  avenue: 

"Tip /TIP!  TIP!  Take  Sal  back!  Quick!" 
Down  dropped  the  organ  handle,  and  Tip, 
159 


SAL:    HER    STORY 

for  it  was  he,  stood  in  dumb  wonder,  star- 
ing at  the  daintily  dressed  girl  who  had  the 
face  of  long-lost  Sal.  He  stood  silent  until 
poor  Sal  grew  frantic;  out  into  the  street 
she  ran,  and  holding  up  her  hand  in  the 
form  of  a  cup,  she  looked  at  Tip  with  a  ra- 
diant, dimpling,  sparkling  smile  such  as 
Mrs.  Evans  had  never  seen  on  her  face 
before.  Then  she  coughed  a  deep,  tragic 
cough. 

If  proof  had  been  wanting,  there  it  was, 
and  Tip  grasped  her  hands  as  tightly  as  if 
he  feared  she  would  vanish  if  he  let  go, 
and  spoke  for  the  first  time. 

"Well,  I'll  be  jiggered!"  he  gasped, 
squeezing  her  hands  more  tightly  with  each 
word.  "  Tell  us  where  ye  dropped  from,  an' 
get  on  to  me  style,  ef  ye  please!  I'm  owner 
of  de  orgin  now,  an'  I'll  play  ye  de  Kosebud 
all  day  ef  ye  wants! " 

Meanwhile  Mrs.  Evans  interposed  a  sug- 
gestion that  they  leave  the  organ  and  come 
into  the  house  to  finish  their  excited  talk,  so, 
still  hand  in  hand,  they  ran  up  the  steps,  Sal 
160 


SAL:    HER    STORY 

looking  like  another  child.  As  they  entered 
her  face  clouded  with  a  new  trouble. 

"  Where's  Jerry?  "  she  demanded.  "  Jer- 
ry hates  Sal,  make  Sal  cough." 

"  Don't  ye  fret  yer  head  over  that,  kid," 
said  Tip,  staring  with  eager  eyes  around  the 
big  hall  which  they  entered.  "  Jerry,  he'll 
not  trouble  ye  no  more.  He's  gone  fer  good 
this  time,  an'  de  orgin's  mine.  He  left  it  in 
de  court,  an'  he's  gone  where  he  can't  never 
come  back.  Say,  ye  don't  live  here,  do  ye?  " 

Sal  nodded  her  head  impatiently,  and 
dancing  around  him,  repeated:  "Tip,  take 
Sal  back!  Take  Sal  back  quick!" 

"Sure!"  answered  the  boy.  "  But  ye 
don't  mean  ter  go  back  on  this  here  place  fer 
us,  do  ye?" 

There  was  such  a  happy  light  in  the 
child's  eyes  that  Mrs.  Evans  did  not  wait  for 
her  to  answer,  but  said  hastily  herself: 

"  Yes,  she  is  to  go  back  with  you  to  the 

court,  if  your  mother  will  take  her  and  do 

for  her  as  she  did  in  the  time  before  that 

cruel  man  took  her  away.     If  what  you  say 

161 


SAL:    HER    STORY 

is  true  and  she  is  safe  from  him,  I  know  Mr. 
Evans  will  choose  to  have  her  go  with  you. 
When  he  comes  in  you  must  tell  us  all  you 
know  about  Jerry  and  other  things  which 
we  have  always  wanted  to  know.  We  are 
very  fond  of  Sal,  and  you  can  not  guess  how 
I  hate  to  give  her  up,  but  I  have  no  right  to 
keep  her  from  being  happy.  You  are  sure 
she  will  be  well  cared  for?  She  has  had 
such  a  hard  time,  you  know! " 

Tip  looked  earnestly  into  Mrs.  Evans's 
sweet  face,  then  extending  an  extremely 
grimy  hand,  while  a  smile  lit  up  his  freckled 
face  from  end  to  end,  he  said  heartily: 
"  Yes,  marm,  bet  yer  life  on  that!  Sal's  my 
chum,  an'  I  don't  get  her  in  another  box,  not 
if  I  knows  myself! "  Then  the  strangeness 
of  the  whole  occurrence  of  finding  Sal  so  un- 
expectedly overcame  him,  and  he  slapped  his 
knees  with  his  hands  time  after  time,  mur- 
muring under  his  breath,  "  Well,  Pll  be  jig- 
gered! "  all  the  while  keeping  his  eyes  on  Sal 
as  if  he  feared  he  should  lose  her  again. 

Sal  meanwhile  had  stolen  up  close  to 
162 


SAL:    HER    STORY 

Mrs.  Evans  and  was  clinging  to  her  dress. 
"You  come  with  Sal?"  she  said  wistfully. 
"  You  come  play  with  Sal  and  Tip?  Sal 
likes  you.  You  come  with  Sal?  " 

Just  then  Mrs.  Evans  could  find  no  words 
in  which  to  reply,  so  she  nodded,  and  hugged 
the  child,  and  Sal,  contented,  danced  away, 
wild  with  delight. 

There  was  such  a  radiance  in  her  face 
and  manner  that  Mrs.  Evans  realized  with  a 
sigh  how  useless  it  was  to  try  to  transplant 
this  human  flower  from  the  soil  in  which 
the  Great  Gardener  had  planted  it;  and  to- 
day there  is  no  happier  person  in  all  the 
world  than  Sal,  in  her  corner  of  Mackintyre 
Court. 


163 


MAROONED 


MAROONED 


"YOU'RE  a  coward — just  like  all  girls!" 
said  Jimmie,  with  supreme  contempt. 

"I'm  not  a  coward!"  retorted  Eleanor, 
his  sister,  with  much  dignity  and  decision. 
"  Boys  aren't  any  braver  than  girls,  any- 
how. They  get  frightened  at  different 
things,  that's  all.  And  I  just  guess  I've 
seen  you  scared  to  pieces  in  a  thunder- 
shower,  or  when  father  called  you  into  the 
library  for  a  talk!" 

"Pooh!"  said  Jimmie.  "You  never 
heard  me  shriek  because  I  was  afraid  of  a 
silly  little  mouse;  and  I  never  fell  down  two 
flights  of  stairs  because  I  was  scared  in  the 
dark,  and  bounced  in  like  a  jumping-jack  to 
disturb  you  when  you  were  reading.  I'd  be 
ashamed  to  act  so,  but  I  s'pose  girls  can't 
help  it.  I'm  going  to  be  a  pirate,  and  of 
12  167 


MAROONED 

course  they  never  get  frightened  at  any- 
thing. You  just  wait,  and  I'll  show  you  how 
brave  a  fellow  can  be!  " 

"  I  don't  care  how  brave  you  can  be- 
so  there,"  retorted  Eleanor.  "  And  girls 
don't  care  to  be  compared  to  pirates,  any- 
how!" 

Jimmie  was  standing  on  the  hearth-rug, 
with  feet  wide  apart  and  hands  in  his  pock- 
ets, and  a  superior  and  scornful  expression 
on  his  round,  fat  face.  Eleanor  stood  facing 
him,  likewise  scornful,  now  that  she  had  re- 
covered after  her  wild  scramble  from  attic 
to  library,  which  had  interrupted  Jimmie's 
profound  meditation  on  pirates  and  their 
methods  of  living. 

The  next  day  would  be  Saturday,  and  on 
that  day  Jimmie  proposed  to  abandon  him- 
self to  the  joys  of  a  seafaring  existence. 
Reading  of  Captain  Kidd's  adventures  until 
that  hero's  deeds  were  engraved  on  his  brain 
in  red  letters,  and  the  pages  of  the  book  in 
which  they  were  recorded  were  worn  in  holes, 
Jimmie  had  just  decided  to  dedicate  himself 
168 


MAROONED 

to  the  delightful  task  of  finding  Captain 
Kidd's  buried  treasure,  or  at  least  that  part 
of  it  which  he  felt  sure  he  had  traced  to  a 
location  not  far  from  his  home.  In  imagi- 
nation he  was  handing  out  coffers  of  gold 
and  precious  stones  to  an  admiring  audi- 
ence, when  Eleanor  rushed  into  the  room, 
breathless,  with  her  wild  account  of  attic 
adventure. 

However,  he  reflected  that  it  might  be 
pleasant  to  share  his  plans — for  Jimmie 
dearly  loved  to  talk — so  in  a  gentler  voice  he 
invited  Eleanor  to  sit  down.  But  her  pride 
had  been  too  deeply  wounded  to  allow  of 
such  a  concession.  With  a  toss  of  her  head 
she  left  the  hero  to  himself,  and  he  was 
obliged  to  go  to  bed  for  lack  of  better  occu- 
pation. There  in  the  dark  he  completed  his 
plan  of  bold  buccaneering,  and  lay  awake  to 
hear  the  old  clock  on  the  stairs  announce 
three  successive  hours. 

But  late  as  it  was  when  he  fell  asleep,  he 
was  up  at  daybreak  the  next  morning,  and, 
eager  not  to  waste  one  moment  of  the  day, 
169 


MAROONED 

dressed  himself  as  hastily  as  possible  in  the 
finery  he  had  been  accumulating  for  some 
weeks.  When  arrayed  in  the  costume  of  the 
"  order  of  pirates,"  the  effect  was  even  finer 
than  he  had  anticipated.  He  wore  short  red 
socks  and  low  shoes  on  which  he  had  pinned 
large  steel  buckles.  A  gay  scarf  was  draped 
around  his  waist,  another  tied  over  his  head 
in  true  pirate  fashion,  and  around  his  neck, 
over  the  old  blue  jacket  that  hid  all  of  his 
red  sweater  except  the  wristbands,  was 
knotted  a  red  silk  handkerchief.  On  his 
head  over  the  scarf  was  an  old  three-cor- 
nered hat  which  had  belonged  to  a  Revo- 
lutionary grandfather;  and  from  his  ears, 
suspended  by  white  threads,  hung  antique 
earrings  of  his  mother's.  A  pair  of  his 
father's  old  duck  trousers,  cut  off  at  the 
knees  to  give  the  proper  baggy  effect,  com- 
pleted his  outfit,  and  when  he  had  stuck  a 
Japanese  sword  with  its  battered  scabbard 
through  his  belt,  and  taken  a  pistol  from  a 
rack  of  relics,  he  so  much  resembled  a  pirate 
as  to  feel  a  thrill  of  pride  in  his  achieve- 
170 


MAROONED 

ment,  and  a  keen  desire  to  begin  his  adven- 
turous career. 

So  he  crept  softly  down  to  the  pantry 
and  packed  a  gay  work-bag  of  Eleanor's 
with  crackers,  cheese,  and  cake,  and  filled  a 
bottle  labeled  "  soda-water  "  with  molasses 
and  water  as  a  suitable  beverage  to  quench 
a  pirate's  thirst.  He  then  made  his  way 
from  the  house  across  the  two-mile  stretch 
of  salt  marshes  leading  to  the  inlet.  He  had 
often  rebelled  at  the  walk  when  sent  on  an 
errand,  but  as  the  first  incident  in  his  new 
career  it  had  a  different  aspect. 

Reaching  the  cove  where  his  boat  lay,  he 
stowed  away  his  provender,  and  found  his 
pickax  and  shovel  safe  where  he  had  left 
them  the  day  before.  Then  jumping  aboard 
the  boat,  he  rowed  easily  down  the  winding 
inlet,  helped  by  the  current.  But  when  he 
turned  into  the  bay,  divided  from  the  open 
sea  by  only  a  short  breakwater,  progress 
was  quite  another  matter.  He  began  to 
look  more  sober,  to  whistle  less  loudly,  and 
to  brace  himself  for  real  work.  For- 
171 


MAROONED 

tunately  it  was  a  calm  day  or  he  could 
scarcely  have  made  any  headway  against 
wind  and  tide  in  the  long  pull  that  was 
blistering  his  hands.  But  at  last  he 
reached  the  strip  of  sand  jutting  out  from 
the  mainland  on  which,  sunk  deep  in  the 
sand,  lay  the  spar  of  an  old  vessel  which 
Jimmie  believed  had  belonged  to  the  pi- 
rate band  who  had  buried  their  caskets  of 
gold  near  by. 

Beaching  his  boat,  he  landed,  and  began 
taking  measurements  to  find  the  exact  spot 
where,  as  he  had  figured,  the  treasure  lay. 
This  took  some  time,  and  he  now  decided  to 
eat  a  bite  of  luncheon.  It  did  not  take  long 
to  empty  bag  and  bottle,  and  off  he  started 
toward  his  boat  to  get  the  implements  with 
which  to  begin  work. 

But  alas  for  Jimmie!  A  pirate — ma- 
rooned— was  he! 

While  he  had  been  busy  with  his  lunch- 
eon the  tide  had  turned,  his  peninsula  had 
become  an  island  lapped  by  waves  that 
threatened  soon  to  cover  it,  and  far  out  on 
172 


MAROONED 

the  water,  bobbing  up  and  down,  he  saw  his 
truant  boat! 

With  a  groan  of  despair,  he  sank  down 
on  the  sand,  the  empty  bag  beside  him,  the 
pistol  in  his  hand,  while  the  soda-water  bot- 
tle floated  in  a  little  pool. 

Only  for  a  few  seconds  did  he  give  way  to 
his  feelings;  then,  jumping  up,  he  stood  erect 
and  brave,  as  any  good  pirate  should,  and 
decided  what  to  do.  A  large  piece  of  slate 
served  in  place  of  a  shovel,  and  he  dug  fast 
and  deep  until  he  had  made  an  immense 
hole;  but  he  found  only  sand,  and  no  trace  of 
the  pot  of  gold.  Hot  and  tired,  he  rested 
for  a  moment,  and  noticed  dark  clouds  gath- 
ering. Could  night  have  come  so  soon?  A 
low,  ominous  rumble  answered  him  as  the 
first  raindrops  fell,  and  he  forgot  the  treas- 
ure— forgot  everything  except  his  danger. 
In  a  panic,  he  took  refuge  behind  the  old 
boat  spar,  clinging  to  it  in  a  desperate  hope 
of  protection  against  the  rising  waters. 
Cowering  there,  he  hid  his  face  that  he 
might  not  see  the  waves  which  were  now 
173 


MAROONED 

covering  his  island,  threatening,  as  he 
thought,  to  sweep  him  out  to  sea,  while  re- 
morseful thoughts  came  thick  and  fast.  He 
had  disobeyed  his  father's  direct  commands 
about  rowing  along  that  shore;  he  had  prob- 
ably given  his  invalid  mother  a  dangerous 
fright;  he  had  taunted  Eleanor  with  coward- 
ice. Was  this  his  punishment,  or  only  the 
usual  lot  of  a  pirate?  Waiting  for  his  last 
moment  to  come,  to  his  surprise  he  continued 
to  live,  while  thunder  and  lightning  roared 
and  flashed  and  shook  the  solid  earth,  and 
the  waves  dashed  up  to  the  island  and 
flowed  softly  over  him  and  his  once  gorgeous 
costume. 

Slowly  came  the  light,  a  rift  in  the  clouds 
showed  blue  sky,  and  a  boat  rounded  the 
point,  manned  by  two  strong  men.  A  mega- 
phone carried  their  repeated  calls  to  the 
ears  for  which  they  were  meant,  and  a 
shrill  response  brought  joy  to  a  father's 
heart. 

To  row  back  through  the  white-capped 
waves  took  time  and  strength,  and  it  was 
174 


MAROONED 

some  hours  later  that  the  limp,  bedraggled, 
waterlogged  pirate  stood  before  the  home 
fire,  with  little  left  of  the  bold  buccaneer, 
and  much  of  the  thankful  boy  Jimmie. 

That  evening,  warmed,  clothed,  and  fed, 
after  a  long  nap,  Jimmie  was  beginning  to 
feel  a  glow  of  pride  in  his  adventure,  when 
the  feeling  speedily  vanished  at  sight  of  his 
father  beckoning  to  him. 

"  James,"  he  said,  "  I  wish  to  see  you  in 
the  library  immediately.  I  have  something 
to  say  to  you." 

A  half-hour  later,  when  he  emerged,  red- 
faced  and  meek,  he  found  Eleanor  waiting 
for  him,  with  a  mixture  of  amusement  and 
sympathy  written  on  her  face. 

"  Weren't  you  one  bit  afraid,  really  and 
truly?"  she  whispered.  "Not  one  single 


Jimmie  looked  steadily  and  solemnly  at 
her,  then  a  merry  smile  overspread  his  round 
face. 

"  Of  course  not,"  he  said.  "  Pirates  never 
are,  you  know,  except  sometimes  —  like  girls!  " 
175 


MAROONED 

And  as  a  reward  for  his  surrender,  and  a 
satisfaction  to  her  intense  curiosity,  she  let 
him  sit  down  and  tell  her  all  about  it — for 
really  she  was  very  fond  of  Jimmie,  after 
all. 

(i) 


THE   END 


176 


BOOKS  FOR  YOUNG  READERS. 

PUBLISHED  IN    THE  AUTUMN,  1903. 
BY  JAMES   BARNES. 

The  Giant  of  Three  Wars. 

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net ;  postage,  10  cents  additional. 

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be  known  as  "  Heroes  of  Our  Army."  It  possesses  a  colored  frontispiece  and  other 
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children,  but  has  the  charm  that  interests  the  grown  person  who  may  read  it  aloud 
to  those  for  whom  it  was  written. 

BY  KATE   DICKINSON   SWEETSER. 

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--— •        """Illlllll  I  I  (III  II  II 
A     000125175     o 


